


Kings and Queens | Mob!Tom

by egertom



Category: Tom Holland (Actor) - Fandom
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Guns, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Major Character Injury, Major character death - Freeform, Mob Boss Tom Holland, Oral Sex, Protectiveness, Smut, Swearing, Teasing, mob, more smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2019-10-19 14:29:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 47,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17603093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egertom/pseuds/egertom
Summary: A simple girl like Y/N Wyatts would never be caught up with the King of the Mob, but when circumstances change and she finds herself in the wrong place at the wrong time, there’s not much backing out she can do.





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new home and a new start, one free of conflict and trouble… or so she thought.

"Two bedrooms, two bath—one en suite of the master bedroom—balcony, laundry room just down the hall, wide-spaced kitchen and centre island, office that can be converted to a third bedroom..." The real estate agent, Jenna, sighs out as she briefs Y/N and her mum of the property's features.

"And here is the lounge," she finishes, guiding them through the large open space with gorgeous ceiling-to-floor windows adorning the entire back wall, looking out to the city of London.

"Wow," Rachel breathes, taking in the gorgeous view and Y/N's expression mirrors hers; eyes wide and jaw slack. "And how much did you say this place was again?" she asks the blonde, watching as she gazes back down to her clipboard then back up at Y/N, expressionlessly.

"Seven-hundred and fifty, per calendar month to rent," she reminds them, Y/N's mum squealing at the appealing sound of the price and she grips her arms. "Honey, you have to. It's within budget, it's gorgeous, and it's closer to home compared to the others we've viewed," Rachel tries to convince her daughter, though she really has no need to, the view is selling itself.

Nonetheless, she is right. The apartment is absolutely perfect, close to work and just an hour from home. It has all the space Y/N needs and more, a spare room for when the family want to visit. And it's cheap,  _too_ cheap.

"Why is the price so low? I figure a flat this size and with this view would be a little more on the expensive side," she ponders, the real estate agent shuffling her feet against the hardwood floors and her sudden expressionless face twists to one of slight discomfort and fear.

"The last occupant died, right where you're standing," she near whispers, Y/N's eyes widening and her mum holds her hand to her chest in shock. "That's awful, how? What happened?" she asks, standing beside her with her arm loosely around her waist.

Jenna scratches the back of her neck nervously. "The tenant was all kinds of trouble, in with the wrong crowds and eventually it caught up to him. We've had trouble selling since, so that's why the price is so good," she explains.

Y/N frowns, looking down at the ground and wonders just how much trouble this guy could have been in to have ended up dead in his own home. She isn't sure how she feels about the new information, all she knows is that she's fallen in love with the flat and she'll be damned if she doesn't take it.

"Is there anything else I should know?" Y/N asks, her arm how wrapping around her mum's waist and she gently squeezes her side. Jenna sighs through a small smile, relieved that she might have just found a new tenant.

She nods, though. "It's full disclosure that I tell you the owner of this building isn't exactly considered a model citizen and is known for conducting a lot of his business here," she explains briefly.

Y/N furrows her brows, tilting her head. "What kind of business? Who is he?" she asks, wondering why that would be such a big deal. Jenna swallows the lump in her throat. "Tom Holland."

Rachel squeezes Y/N's arm at the mention of his name, though all Y/N can do is scrunch her face up in confusion. Who the fuck is Tom Holland? She doesn't know and she doesn't care. How will his business affect her living? It won't.

"I'll take it."

 


	2. The Beginning of the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Y/N runs into the wrong crowd in the laundry room, she’s fairly certain she’s doomed.

"And... we're done!" she sighs out in relief, folding over the last empty brown box and shoving into the larger box that holds them all. Her sister falls onto the sofa with a huff, her legs propped on the coffee table as she relaxes into the cushions.

Y/N scoffs.

"I don't know what you're huffing for. You didn't fucking do anything," she teases, watching Olivia lower her eyes at her and shake her head. Y/N makes her way to the kitchen, opening the fridge and whining when she realises there's no food in the fridge.

"Hey, Olivia?" Y/N calls out to her, hearing her grumble back in response. "You wanna go get some lunch and then do some shopping? I have no food and if you're staying tonight, then we need a lot of it," Y/N suggests.

Olivia grumbles again, making her way to the kitchen nonetheless as she struggles to shove her feet into her tied trainers. "Can't we just get takeout?" she asks in a soft whine, Y/N's brows shooting to her hairline. "You think I can afford a takeout after I just moved? Still have to get shopping yet and top up the electric," she tells her.

Olivia sighs, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear and shrugs. "It's only twenty quid," she bargains, a scoff slipping past Y/N's lips and she shakes her head. "If it's only twenty quid, then you can pay."

The snippy teenager rolls her eyes, "I'm only seventeen, y'know. I might have a part-time job, but that's all to make this—" she points to her face, "—happen. Beauty isn't free, y'know," she sasses back. Y/N shakes her head. "Neither is takeout. Now get your jacket and pick up one of those boxes, shops will be closing soon."

* * *

Tom gently pushes the door open, stepping inside as the small heels of his Oxford shoes clunk against the wooden floorboards with every step he takes. He catches sight of himself in the mirror in the hall, using his free hand to adjust his slim black tie before tugging his suit blazer.

Carrying the welcoming basket in his hand, he wanders into the open-spaced lounge and kitchen, taking in the chaotic mess of bubble wrap, newspapers, and tape. He takes a brief look around, setting the basket on the kitchen island before stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Wandering around the room, he catches sight of a silver photo frame sitting atop the fireplace, his curiosity getting the better of him and he picks it up, inspecting the contents of the photo. Y/N stands with a cheesy smile, a gorgeous slim white dress fitting her body as she holds a glass of champagne in one hand and holds her sister's side with the other.

Tom can tell by the dresses they both wear and the lights in the background that the photo was clearly taken at a wedding, and he wonders if it may have been hers. Though, he is sure it wasn't. From what he knows, Y/N is single and moving in alone.

"She's clean, you know? You don't have to go snooping," Harrison speaks from the kitchen as he peers into the cupboards, hoping to find something to eat. Tom notices and shakes his head. "She just moved in, doubt she'll have any food, Haz," Tom points out, gently placing the frame down and taking a seat on the couch.

"She has good taste, though, I'll give her that," Haz mutters from the kitchen, referring to the small clutter around the apartment and the way all the colours somehow manage to complement each other.

Tom hummed, head tilting. "Doesn't have a T.V, though," he says, pointing to the blank wall facing the sofa. Haz hums, standing by the windows and taking in the view. "Maybe she's one of those that doesn't believe in T.V's," Haz suggests, Tom scrunching his face at his righthand man's words.

_What?_

"I'll see to it," he mumbles to himself, standing from the sofa and adjusting his suit. "Harrison," he calls softly, tilting his head to the door as the two men make their way out of the flat and lock the door behind them.

Harrison watches him tuck the key back into his pocket and purse his lips. "Don't you think it's a little weird having a key to all of your tenants?" he ponders, Tom giving him a stern look in return. "We both know if I never had the keys, we wouldn't have found Ricky for weeks," he replies gruffly.

Haz nods to himself, knows he's right, and follows Tom down the hall and into the elevator. "What are we going to do about Damian? Still hasn't paid up," Harrison asks, reminding Tom of the business that is already on his mind.

Tom presses Level 6 and stands back, hands crossing over his front as the elevator doors close. "I have an idea in mind," he smirks. Harrison grins back, cracking his neck to the sides and reaching for the back of his belt, grabbing the base of his gun.

* * *

 

"Have you spoken to your dad recently?" Olivia asks as they both slowly wander down the hall, shopping bags pulling on their arms and Y/N nods. "Spoke to him last night, he comes back from Australia next week, wants to take us out for lunch," she informs her younger sister, watching the grin grow on her lips.

Olivia isn't Y/N's full sister. When Y/N was two, her parents split and a few months later, her mum found someone else and fell pregnant with Olivia, and though Y/N's dad isn't Olivia's, she thinks of him more as a father than her real one.

Her biological dad, Martin, is a mess. A raging alcoholic who's already been arrested twice on drug charges and public indecency. Why their mum stays with him, they don't know, but Y/N doesn't like him, and neither does Olivia.

"I can't wait for Adam to get back! I know mum's looking forward to it, too," she grins, clapping her hands together as best as she could while carrying the shopping bags. Y/N grins back, knowing just how in love their mum still was with her dad, and vice versa.

Nodding her head, Y/N drops the bags to the floor and rummages through her purse for the keys. "I know Martin's your dad and all, but why the fuck is mum still with him?" she curses under her breath, Olivia shrugging with a grimace. "Beats me, he's a lazy fuck."

Usually, Y/N would scold her for her language, but when it's directed to the man she hates, she can't tell her off. "Yeah, well, as long as you keep mum sane while you're home, that's all that matters," she reminds her, opening the door and giving it a gentle kick as they both usher inside.

Y/N wanders to the kitchen, Olivia following close behind as she plops the bags on the counters when she notices the basket on the island. "What the fuck?" she whispers to herself, dropping the bags and eyeing the basket before tugging off the note wedged between it and a muffin.

"Y/N, holy shit!" Olivia calls out in a gasp and Y/N rounds the counter to see what's wrong. "What the fuck?" she yells out. Y/N turns to what she's looking at, a seventy inch TV mounted onto the wall staring right back at them with a huge red bow on the corner.

She gaps at it, Olivia snatching the card from her hand and reading the note aloud. "Think of it as a housewarming gift, darling. Tom," she reads out, Y/N's shoulders sagging and an aggravated sigh slips passed her lips.

"Who the hell is Tom?" Olivia asks, following her sister back in the kitchen and rummaging through the basket he also left. "He's my landlord. Why has he given me a T.V? How the fuck did he even get in here?" she asks herself, feeling extremely uncomfortable at the fact he got in without her even knowing.

"Maybe he's this young, attractive, rich business guy that has a crush on you," Olivia wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. Y/N scoffs, "I haven't even met him. He's probably some old pervert. Remind me to put the latch on the door tonight," she shivers.

Olivia rolls her eyes, biting into one of the chocolate chip muffins in the basket and Y/N shakes her head at her. She begins to unpack the food shopping, filling the fridge and cupboards to the brim and lets out a sigh when it's all done.

Turning to Olivia, who sits perched on the stool of the island, Y/N leans on the countertops and purses her lips. "Wanna get kebabs? Can't be bothered to cook," she huffs out, kissing her teeth and Olivia nods, nose in her phone.

"Thought you didn't have money," she retaliates, to which Y/N shrugs her shoulders and opens the fridge. "Won't even come to a tenner, it's fine," she mumbles back, pulling out a bottle of wine and flashing it to her sister, earning a grin from her in return.

"Just don't tell mum," she points with a squint. Olivia holds her hands up in surrender, but her grin never falters. "Have I ever?" she wiggles her brows, stuffing her phone in her jeans pocket as Y/N follows her out of the flat, catching sight of the jeans on her lower half.

"Hey, those are mine! I've been looking for them for weeks!" Y/N smacks Olivia's side and she shoves her gently. Olivia shrugs, "they fit me better," and wanders to the elevator.

"Fuck off do they fit you better, we're the same bloody size," Y/N flicks the back of her head with a stern scold, and just as she's about to make a snarky comment, her eyes widen and she clamps her mouth shut.

Before Y/N can ask what's wrong, Olivia subtly slaps her side and tugs her closer to her, Y/N's lips pursed shut as she allows the two men to accompany them in the lift.

The first keeps to himself, brown hair a Godly mess on his gorgeous head and a crisped clean suit adores his clearly very toned body. The blonde beside him, however, offers a sly grin to Y/N and Olivia, his eyes gazing over Olivia's body for a few seconds too long and Y/N frowns, wrapping her arm around her sister's side.

" _He_ thinks they fit me better," she whispers, the blond clearly hearing and smirking to himself. Y/N slaps her side gently, shaking her head at her words.

"Olivia, for the love of God, stop acting like a horny teenager for five seconds," Y/N rushes out a whisper through gritted teeth, the brown-haired beauty biting back a smirk at her words while the blond grins shamelessly.

The lift  _dings_ and the doors open. Y/N rushes Olivia out in front of her, offering a tight-lipped smile to the two men before following her. Tom and Haz watch with raised brows, blinking wide when Olivia smacks her bum playfully and Y/N shoves her out of the building.

"Her sister's seventeen. Don't even think about it," Tom warns, Haz holding his hands up in surrender with a shit-eating grin. "What about the older sister then?" he quips, Tom squinting warningly at him in return.

The pair wander out of the lift and down the hall, the brisk air of the late evening hitting them briefly before they climb into the car that awaits them.

"Jacob got the money from Charles," Haz informs Tom as the driver slowly takes off, and Tom nods at the information, adjusting the cufflinks of his sleeved suit.

"Good, one less bullet to waste," he hums, eyes focused on the streets that buzz past them from the outside and his thump taps on his thigh.

* * *

 

"Have you decided what you're gonna do with the office room?" Olivia asks, referring to what could be used as a potential third bedroom.

Y/N shrugs her shoulders. "I'm actually thinking of turning it into a little art studio. Now I've moved out, I have room for it," she theorises.

Olivia agrees frantically, encouraging her sister to continue with her art and Y/N can't help but laugh at Olivia's clear excitement.

"It's almost eleven. I'm gonna get ready for bed," she sighs, jumping off the couch and wandering into the spare room that she's occupying for the night.

"Use my bathroom if you want a bath," Y/N suggests to Olivia, watching her rummage through her small suitcase on the spare bed. She hums, grabbing her things and wandering past her older sister.

"I'm gonna pop down to the laundrettes downstairs!" Y/N calls out from the hallway, holding a wash basket half full of dirty clothing.

"Why? You've got the washroom in the flat," she calls back out in confusion. Y/N wanders back into her bedroom, picking up Olivia's clothes as she wanders out of the bathroom in a towel.

"Haven't got the washer and dryer yet," she explains, a hum sounding from Olivia's lips and she leans against the doorframe.

"I'll take my key and phone. Any problems just call me, I'll be about an hour," she kisses her cheek, wandering out of the bedroom as Olivia shouts a goodbye until Y/N is out of the flat.

She figures doing the washing late at night will save her the trouble of fighting for a machine and socialising with her new neighbours; both of which she is far too tired to do.

Within a few minutes, she's made her way to the basement level, soft hums slipping from her lips as she follows the fluorescent signs to the laundry room. With the basket in her hands, she uses her side to push the door open.

The second she looks up from the basket, the entire thing falls from her arms and to the ground with a loud thud. She stares with wide eyes and a slack jaw, can't focus on anything other than the bloodied man tied to the chair in the centre of the room.

Several machines are rumbling while empty, dying out the cries of the beaten man and Y/N takes a step back. The men in suits turn to her, eyes cold and stare hard and she can taste the fear on her tongue.

"S-sorry, I... I'll go—" she stutters out, stepping backwards and tripping over the washing basket. She's quick to close the door, her clothes strewn across the floor on the opposite side of it.

"Oh my God..." she breathes in fear, her feet carrying her back to the apartment in a matter of seconds and before she knows it, Y/N is locking every single door and window in the apartment.

"Olivia?" she calls out gently, knocking on the bathroom door in her room. She hears the soft sloshes of the water before Olivia mumbles a 'come in' and Y/N gently pushes the door open.

Olivia lay sunken in the tub, the water coated with giant bubbles and she smiles up at Y/N as she sat opposite her on the toilet seat. Olivia is quick to notice Y/N's fear and she sits up as best she can.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Olivia hurries out, eyes frantic and just as Y/N's lips part to speak, a loud pounding on the front door cuts her off, and her heart stops for a brief moment.

Their heads both snap to the door of the bathroom, fear slowly consuming them and Y/N stands to her feet. Handing Olivia her phone, Y/N swallows back the lump in her throat.

"If I scream, or I'm not back in thirty seconds, call 999. Don't ask, just do it, okay?" she breathes out, tears pooling in her eyes but Olivia nods nonetheless and takes the phone from her sister's hands.

The knocking consists as Y/N nears the front door, grabbing a knife from the kitchen on her way and she curses the Gods above for not blessing her front door with a viewer.

"I know you're on the other side of the door, darling," a smooth voice echoes from the other side of the door, her heart dropping and her hands shake in fear.

She clears her throat. "Me no speak English," she attempts an odd accent, eyes squeezing shut at just how obvious she sounds, but it remains quiet for a split second.

With shaking hands and laboured breaths, Y/N grips the doorknob and slides the bolt across, twisting the handle and cracking it open. She peaks an eye between the crack, only seeing a slight slit of the man before her.

Dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie this time, the brown-haired beauty from the lift earlier stands at the door with a comical grin.

"Can I help you?" she croaks out, the knife hiding behind her back and she's fairly sure this is going to unravel like some horror movie.

"Mind opening the door, love? It's a little chilly out here," he muses, eyebrow raised and though Y/N can feel herself swooning, the seriousness of the earlier situation causes nerves to settle in her bones.

She shakes her head. "I'm sorry, it's late and I don't know who you are," she tries to argue, though the man nods and stuffs his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants.

"Then maybe I should introduce myself? Tom. Tom Holland, your landlord, darling," he greets, a hand sticking out and waiting for her to shake.

She gapes at him, eyes bulging out of her face and she's sure he noticed. Y/N closes the door, sliding the chain across and opening it wider, revealing herself to him and he takes in the sight of her; pyjama shorts on her legs and an old t-shirt on her chest.

He notices the knife in her hand, brows shooting to his hairline and she grabs his arm, yanking him into the flat and closing and locking the door behind him. With her back pressed against the door, she finally lets out a sigh, until the panicked calls of her sister catch her attention.

"Y/N!? What's going on?" Olivia yells out, padding into the hall with a towel around her body and a baseball bat in her hands. Y/N lets out a yelp, rushing to her side and taking the bat from her hands.

"Everything's okay, don't worry. Just go to bed, I need to talk to my landlord," she whispers through gritted teeth, Olivia peering over her sister's shoulder and gaping at the man behind her.

"He's the landlord?" she yells in a whisper. Y/N nods, ushering her into the spare room and closing the door behind her.

She turns to Tom, letting out a sigh of relief and he picks up the knife from the ground, following her to the kitchen and placing it back in the holder.

"Thank God you're here. I don't know if you know, but there's a whole underground fight thing going on here and they have some dude tied up to a chair in the laundry room," she rambles on, Tom waving his hand dismissively.

"Just some business, darling. Though, I'd advise for you not to go down there after 9 p.m.," he speaks with the shrug of his shoulders, Y/N's brows knitting at how he can possibly be okay with such things occurring in his building.

She's about to argue until the TV catches the corner of her eye and she's suddenly feeling angry and uncomfortable. "How did you get in here and why did you give me a TV?" she switches the conversation, eyeing Tom and he takes a seat at the kitchen island.

"I have keys to all my tenants in case of emergencies, darling. I knocked earlier to give you the basket but you weren't home, so I let myself in. As for the TV, as I said, a housewarming gift," he shrugs.

Y/N gapes at him. "That's not okay. You can't just wander into everyone's flat whenever you feel like it, or buy them huge TV's!"

Tom watches with a small smile, listening to her ranting and noticing the lines on her forehead whenever she gets overly heated. And it isn't until she notices him smiling so softly, that she finally calms down.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't use that key," she finishes, swallowing back the lump in her throat. Tom nods, hands up in surrender. "Of course, love."

Y/N nods back, taking a breath after what feels like forever. "I know it's not my place, but why the hell did a group of men in suits have a man tied to the chair and beaten to a bloody pulp?" she asks.

Tom simply clears his throat and clasps his hands together. "He owed me some money, and we took care of it. It's really nothing for you to worry about, darling," he shrugs his shoulders, speaking so easily as though his words are scripted.

_They probably are._

She nods hesitantly, beginning to understand what Jenna meant when she mentioned he conducted his 'business' here.

"Anyway, darling, it's getting late and I just wanted to pop in to see how you were finding the new place," he concludes, standing from his seat at the island and Y/N follows him to the door.

"Right, well um, thank you?" she says, words coming out as a question as she doesn't quite know what she's thanking him for. The TV? Breaking into her flat? She isn't quite sure.

"Nice meeting you, love," he winks, wandering out of the door and leaving her in her flat, a complete mess. She closes the door, about to walk to her room when Olivia comes bolting out of hers.

"Do you know who that was!?" she shrieks, eyes wide and her body is now hidden under a pair of pyjamas. Y/N frowns at her. "Yeah, Tom Holland. My landlord," she shakes her head.

However, her words don't satisfy Olivia and she looks at her older sister with fear and concern while shaking her head. She scoffs. "More like Tom Holland, King of the fucking Mob."

 


	3. A Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Tom plays hero in Y/N’s time of need, they establish something new; a friendship.

"Told you what would happen if you didn't pay up, Marcel. So, tell me, why the  _fuck_ have I still not received my money?"

Tom sits behind the desk, a cocky smirk adorning his face and he holds a glass of scotch on the rocks in his hand. His feet are cooped up on the desk, his Oxford shoes glistening ever so slightly when the lights hit them.

Currently, Marcel Quince sits opposite him, one of Tom's many business associates. However, Marcel has yet to pay the money he owes, and the mobster before him is growing impatient.

"Tom, the clubs been going through some trouble. It ain't getting the hype it used to," Marcel tries to bargain, watches as Tom kisses his teeth and shakes his head, clearly not pleased by the shitty excuse.

"That's because you're fucking useless, Marcel. When I leased the club, I expected you to keep it in the shape it was in. The business was thriving when Haz and I were in control, and all we did was make an appearance once a month. You're there every fucking day, so it seems. So, where the fuck is my money?"

He's sitting forward now, glass empty as the cubes of ice begin to melt. His feet are placed firmly on the floor, legs wide and he leans his elbows on them as he speaks, can practically smell the fear dripping from Marcel.

"I... I don't—I don't have it..." Marcel mutters, his fate practically sealed as the words struggle to stumble passed his lips, and though Tom is now short of half a million quid, a sick smile graces his lips, nonetheless.

"Well that's just peachy, isn't it, Marcel?" he quips, glass placed on the desk and he rises from his seat, adjusting his suit as he rounds the chair and wanders to Marcel, reaching for the gun in the back of his waistband.

Harrison simply sits in the corner of the room, slumped in the seat as he scrolls through his phone, mindlessly ignoring the pleads and screams of Marcel as Tom breaks his fingers, one by one.

With a few more clicks of his phone, a familiar face graces his screen, a hint of a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth and he begins to scroll through the photos. His smile only grows at the sight of hers in every post, her eyes drawing him in and he takes a deep breath.

Olivia Richards (the sister of Y/N Wyatts) has officially caught Harrison Osterfield's eye. It isn't as weird as it seems, she was seventeen and he's barely twenty. Yes, it's three years, but in five months, she'll be eighteen and he'll still be twenty. Though, Tom will argue otherwise.

The screams quickly die out and Haz looks up from his phone, Tom using the white cloth to clean the blood from his hands. He nods to the door, walking out of it and Harrison follows, phone shoved in his pocket and long forgotten, but her smile is still on his mind.

"Get James to take care of the body. I have a few errands to run."

* * *

 

He eyes the art supplies that fill the shelves in search of something for his mum. Nikki Holland, a lover of all things art, including her precious boys.

Her birthday is coming up, and Tom is determined to spoil her with the finest brushes and oil paints he can get his hands on. Nikki, however, has other ideas.

Since she was young, her supplies were always somewhat vintage. Canvases were always the cheapest available and her brushes, well, that was a similar story. Even after her husband had been the biggest mobster of the decade, she still refused to pay anything over forty pounds on a set of brushes.

So, here Tom is, in the middle of a vintage art store in Downtown London, eyes scanning over the supplies and he huffs to himself. All he wants is to spoil the woman he loves more than anything, and yet she insists he spent no more than a hundred.

"Is there not a way you can hold it? I have the money, but I'm on my lunch break. Can I not pay for it now and pick it up later?" he hears a soft voice almost plead from the counter as he grabs the most expensive set of brushes he can see.

"No, we don't hold things," another voice sasses back, though this one is rough, venomous, almost, and Tom decides he does not like it one bit. He moves to the canvases, picking out three large ones and two smaller ones, placing them onto the odd cart he's pushing around the store.

He's out of place, really, dressed in the finest suit London has seen, and yet he's in one of the cheapest art stores in the UK. Nonetheless, he moves to oil pastels and paints, grabbing every set of every colour until the voices grow louder.

"Look, I have the money, right here. You don't close until eight! I'll pick it up at five, I just can't take this stuff back to work, and I don't have the time to take it home," the softer voice argues, and Tom can't help but peer around the corner.

His eyes catch her bum first, the way it looks in the skin-tight black pants she wears, until his eyes follow up her body and he sees her face. Y/N Wyatts, his newest tenant. He watches her let out an aggravated sigh, running a hand down her face and clenching a fist by her side that goes unnoticed by the cashier.

Deciding to be a hero, he pushes the cart her way, catching her attention and she lets out another breath, though Tom isn't sure if it's a sigh of relief or annoyance.

"Mr. Holland," she nods to him, turning back to the cashier with a pleading look and a sigh. "Look, Miss, I told you, we don't fucking hold things," he grits his teeth at the woman, clearly missing Tom's presence.

It isn't until he clears his throat that the shaggy-haired cashier notices him and gulps, stepping back from the register ever so slightly. Tom begins to load his things onto the table, Y/N watching and eyeing the several art supplies he's purchasing.  _Funny_ , she never pegged him as artistic.

"I think you can make an exception, right—" Tom pauses and glances at the cashier's name tag, "— _Brad_? You'd gladly hold the items of the pretty lady, wouldn't you?" he quips, eyes narrowing at the boy and Y/N watches curiously.

He blabbers to himself silently. "Oh, uh s-sure, of c-course, abso-absolutely," he stutters out, grabbing her cart and pushing it out to the back of the store. She turns to Tom, watching him continue to unload his own and she crosses her arms over her chest.

"I had that under control, you know? Didn't need you to swoop in," she mumbles out, shoving her purse and keys back into her bag and swinging it over her shoulder. Tom turns to her with an amused grin, shaking his head and holding his hands up in surrender.

"You might scare the cashier with the whole  _King_ thing you got going on with what you do, but you don't scare or intimidate me, and I certainly don't need you to keep butting in on my life," she rants, her words spewing out like a jumbled mess.

She turns to walk out of the store, hands on the door until she turns back and catches his attention again. "Oh, and tell your friend to leave my little sister alone," she calls out, narrowing her eyes at him one last time before she struts out the door and down the street.

Tom keeps his eyes on the door, silently hoping she'll walk back in, and he can't help the grin at the way she spoke to him. It's clear she now knows who Tom is, what he does, and the fact she doesn't care just made him even more intrigued.

"Uh, Mr. Holland," Brad's voice cuts Tom out of his trance as he waits for the mobster to pay for the supplies he's unloaded. "It's £147, sir," Brad coughs, watching Tom pull out three fifty pound notes and shove them in his hand.

"Keep the change," he mumbles, bagging up the items and dragging them from the counter. He turns to Brad, face now inches from his and he glares at the man. "Oh, and you better think twice about ever talking to her like that again, or my fist and your face are gonna become close friends."

* * *

 

She moves the easel to the corner of the room, allowing her the gorgeous view of the city whenever she's inspired to paint. Her phone is tucked between her cheek and shoulder, her sister's voice yapping in her ear about her day and the fact that Harrison had messaged her earlier.

"Seriously? He fucking messaged you? He's like five years older than you, Liv, it's weird," Y/N hisses down the line, shaking her head as she pours the assortment of brushes into the pots at the bottom of the easel.

Olivia shrugs her shoulders and twirls her hair around her freshly painted fingernail, laying on her bed and staring up at the white ceiling while the bickering of her mum and dad grow louder from downstairs.

Y/N can hear the commotion from the phone, her movements stilling and she lets out a sigh. "What is it this time?" she asks softly, listening to Olivia shuffle on her sheets before she closes her bedroom door.

"He came home drunk again, asking mum for fifty quid so he could pay off his dealer," Olivia sighs out, tears prickling at her eyes and Y/N purses her lips, the sounds of her stepdad grunting getting louder and she shakes her head.

"I never should've moved out," she whispers, biting back the sobs of guilt, but Olivia is quick to shake her head and scold her older sister. "You're twenty, Y/N. You've had to put up with him for eighteen years... you needed to get away. You deserve to live your own life," she insists.

All Y/N can do is shake her head, sniffle quietly and wipe away the single tear she silently sheds. "You and mum deserve that, Olivia. Martin is a fucking wanker and it's not fair. Why the fuck is mum with him," she grips at her hair.

A sudden shatter of glass from Olivia's end silences the sisters, both their eyes widening when a scream is quick to follow. "Olivia, what the fuck is going on?" Y/N panics out, frozen in her spot with wide eyes.

Olivia falls to the back of her room, dropping to the ground and her hand frantically searches for the baseball bat under her bed. "I- I don't k-know... I heard a smash and a scream—" she's cut off by yet another scream, a cry for help.

"Lock your bedroom door and get in your wardrobe. Call the police, I'm on my way, okay. Olivia, don't fucking leave your room," Y/N demands, ending the call and grabbing her keys, racing out of the studio room and through the apartment.

She runs out of her flat in a pair of short shorts and a camisole, a pair of fuzzy grey bunny slippers on her feet as she races for the elevator. Hitting the button several times, she grows impatient, almost opting for the stairs until the doors  _ding_ open.

She races inside, bumping into another person but she doesn't care. Instead, she presses the ground floor frantically, freaking out when the doors close and a gentle arm tugs on her shoulder.

She spins around with wide eyes, shoulders slumping ever so slightly at the sight of the mobsters before her; Tom Holland and Harrison Osterfield. "Little chilly to be dressed like that, don't you think, love?" Tom teases, taking in her attire and she grits her teeth.

"I don't have time for your stupid fucking comments or your coincidental appearances, okay!?" she snaps, tears welling in her eyes and she struggles to unlock her phone, dialling 999 and bringing the phone to her ear.

"Hello? Yes, I need the police to 72 Merwood Close," she breathes out through tears, Tom's eyes hardening and Harrison's widen. He knows that address, that's Y/N's home—Olivia's home.

"My... my stepdad, he's drunk and under the influence of drugs and I think he's hurt my mum. I told my sister to call the police but I don't know if she has. She's stuck in—" she's cut off when Tom snatches the phone from her grasp and ended the call.

Before Y/N can lay into him, the elevator doors open and Tom is ushering her out with Harrison beside him. "What the fuck are you doing!? I need to get to my Mum and Olivia!" she wails out, fighting Tom's tight grasp on her upper arm.

He turns to her as they leave the building, the cold air blanketing her and goosebumps riddle her smooth skin. "You're not gonna get anywhere dressed like that with no car, love," he tilts his head as he speaks, only causing her to pull back.

"Now, get in the car, love, unless you want your stepdad to hurt your sister too," is all it takes before Y/N is racing toward Harrison who stands beside a black SUV while holding the door open. She clambers in, Harrison taking the front seat and Tom joins Y/N in the back.

"72 Merwood Close, and Dave, fucking step on it," Harrison spits through gritted teeth, the driver complying and starting up the engine. Y/N toys with her phone as the driver speeds through the small amount of traffic. It's relatively quiet for a Saturday night.

"She hasn't called me back. Why hasn't she called me back?" Y/N questions softly, tears now free-falling and Tom watches with a sour face, not liking the clear upset she's going through.

"I knew I never should've left," she whispers.

* * *

 

The car comes to an abrupt stop and Tom and Harrison unbuckle their belts, telling Y/N to stay in the car but she doesn't listen, of course, she doesn't. Instead, she races out of the car, opening the unlocked front door and bursting into the house.

Tom and Harrison follow wearily but are quick to race into the house when another scream yells out for help. Y/N races to the kitchen, eyes wide with horror at the sight of her mum curled into herself in the corner, Martin towering above her with a knife in his hand.

Y/N grabs the frying pan from the oven, racing toward the scumbag and pinching the knife from his weak grasp, throwing it to the ground. He whirls around, face contorting at the sight of his stepdaughter before she bashes the pan against the side of his head, watching him crash to the ground unconscious and the pan falls on top of him.

Y/N drops to her knees, scooping her crying Mother into her arms and Tom grits his teeth and turns to Harrison. "Go look for Olivia and make sure she's okay," he orders, Harrison rushing up the stairs without a second thought.

Tom watches as Y/N and Rachel cry into one another, complete sobbing messes, and the sudden silence quickly catches Tom's attention.  _Where the fuck were the police?_  A young girl comes bolting down the stairs just seconds later, eyes wide and bloodshot and she falls beside her sister and mother.

"Mum, oh my God!" Olivia sobs out, the three girls holding onto one another for dear life. "Locked herself in the room as Y/N told her to," Harrison whispers, hands folding over his chest and Tom nods.

He doesn't want to leave, doesn't want to leave Y/N and her family in such a vulnerable state, but he knows he shouldn't be there when the police show. So, he and Harrison silently left the house, climb into the car and passed the police as they drive out of the court.

Y/N pulls away from Rachel and Olivia, wiping her eyes and standing at the sound of the sirens stopping and three police officers bolting through the front door, guns held high as they inspect the area.

"Mrs. Richards?" A female police officer calls out, following the sound of the sobs and she and the others fell silently into the kitchen, guns lowering at the sight of the women and the unconscious man.

"I uh, I hit him with the frying pan... he tried to stab her," Y/N breathes out, dry tears tightening the skin of her cheeks and the officer nods, the other two ushering to Rachel's side and Olivia lets out a deep breath.

"An ambulance is outside, we're going to get her checked over. Would you girls mind if we took a statement?" the same female officer asks softly as she gestures for the male officer to cuff Martin.

Y/N and Olivia nod, the officer nodding her head to the front door and Y/N ushers Olivia to go first. Her sister follows the officer outside, Y/N hot on their trail when her phone vibrates from the pocket of her shorts. Pulling it out, she examines the message from the unknown number.

**_Sorry we took off, love. If you need anything, don't be afraid to ask._ **

**_Tom._ **

* * *

 

Y/N taps on the bedroom door softly, catching her mum's attention and she offers a small smile to her daughter, though she knows she can see right through it.

"I made you tea," she whispers, wandering into the room and handing it to her, taking a seat on the bed, just beside where Rachel's legs lay beneath the duvet. "Thank you, babe," she hums, taking a sip and gently placing it to the bedside table.

"I'm okay, you know," she teases out a laugh, Y/N's worry never falling and Rachel frowns slightly. "I know you're worried—" Y/N cut her off with a scoff, "—of course I'm worried, mum! What the hell would have happened if I didn't show up!"

Rachel lowers her head slightly, guilt quick to riddle her nerves and Y/N lets out an apologetic sigh. "Mum, I'm sorry. I didn't... I didn't mean..." Rachel shakes her head with a tight-lipped smile.

"You're right, though. You're right," she whimpers, shaking hands covering her face and she sobs into them. "Hey, mum, hey," Y/N rushes to her side, cooing the woman and holding her in her arms.

"Mum," she whispers, cupping her face in her hands. "I know you're blaming yourself, I can see it all over your face. But it's not your fault. None of this is your fault," Y/N reminds her.

Olivia creeps into the room, crawling into the other side of the bed and agreeing with her older sister. "He's a dick, mum. And I want nothing to do with him. I hated him before this and I hate him even more, now. You didn't deserve to be treated the way he treated you," she coos.

Rachel sniffles, "I love you, girls. I hope you fucking know that." she chuckles through her tears, tugging her daughters into her arms and holding them so close to her, as though she's afraid they'll slip through her fingers if she loosens her grip.

"Okay, you two need to sleep," Y/N scolds, pulling away and ushering them both to lay down. Rachel shakes her head, "and so do you," she gives her daughter a pointed look.

"Hey, my house, my rules," Y/N jokes, pointing her fingers at her Rachel and Olivia, and the pair laugh. "Don't worry, I'm gonna head to bed in a minute, need to finish some stuff then I will," she reassures her.

"Night," she whispers, flicking the light off and shutting the door behind her, allowing Rachel and Olivia to get the sleep they both need and deserve.

An hour later, Y/N finds herself sitting in the middle of the art room, an old portfolio in her lap and she smiles to herself, adoring the old oil paintings she'd done a few years back.

It isn't until she catches sight of the watch on her wrist that she realises it's 3 a.m. and decides to make a hot drink to get herself to sleep. Just as she's prepping her drink in the kitchen, dull tapping on the front door catches her attention.

Cautiously, she nears the door, presses the side of her face against the wood and waits for the 3 a.m. visitor to announce themselves. "Just me, love. Know you're hiding behind the door," that familiar voice says.

Y/N lets out a sigh, shaking her head but opening the door and smiling softly at the man before her. She ushers him inside, closing the door and nodding her head slightly toward the kitchen. Tom follows her, taking a seat on the stool and watching her rub her arms up and down nervously.

"Can I get you something? Some tea, coffee? A beer?" she tries to joke, hoping to lighten the mood but she knows what Tom is going to say, what he's going to ask. She just hoped she could put it off a little longer, and Tom quickly realises that's what she was trying to do.

"Tea would be lovely, darling," he smiles gently, the look so foreign on his usual hard face, but it sends a warmth through Y/N's stomach, and she nods, turning around to make him his tea.

"How are they? Your mum and Olivia, I mean," he jumps right to it. Y/N pauses, clearing her throat and removing the tea bag from the mug. She turns around with a tight-lipped smile and hands him the cup.

"They're okay. In the spare room, actually," she breathes, eyes cast low as if she was inspecting the marble granite of the countertops.

"Thank you, by the way. If you hadn't of taken me to them, my mum would probably be dead right now," she chokes out, and the thought alone is all it takes for her to succumb to tears.

Tom jumps from his seat on the stool, rounding the island and pulling her into his chest, gently cooing her and reassuring her that things are okay. She grips the jacket of his suit, tears staining his expensive, clean shirt, but he doesn't care.

"Hey, shhh," he calms her, hand cradling the back of her head but she continues to sob, continues to crumble and allow him to see her in her weakest state. His heart clenches at the sound of her cries.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she hiccups, pulling away and wiping her bloodshot eyes, cheeks puffy from the crying, but Tom can't do anything other than offer her a weak, yet soft smile.

"But thank you, I owe you... not that there's anything you'd ever need me for, but I do, I owe you," she swallows, smiling up at the man that is a mere four inches taller than her and he nods.

Taking a seat back at the island, he takes a sip of the sweet tea, watching her pour herself a mug before she turns and faces him. "What are friends for? Aye, darling," he jokes, watching the smile crawl onto her lips and she raises a brow.

"Oh, so we're friends now?" she sasses, her sweet laugh echoing through the 3 a.m. silence and Tom can feel himself relax at the sound of it, can see her shoulders shrug as she laughs.

Tom grins. "Don't see why we can't be, love," he reasons, her smile only growing and she nods her head. "Okay, friends it is," she agrees. Tom smiles, though the question keeps nagging him at the back of his head.

"You wanna know what happened, don't you?" she quips quietly, could tell by the look in his eyes and the way his smile fades. Tom purses his lips but nods his head shamelessly.

She lets out a sigh. "They arrested him, assault, drugs, alcohol, he's got at least twenty years," she shrugs, though she can't help the smile that yanks on the corners of her lips.

Tom nods, thumb tapping against the ceramic mug. "That all there is to it? This a one-time thing that he's ever done?" he asks, can feel the spite in her venomous chuckle and she shakes her head.

"That's a story for when we're best friends," she jokes, though Tom doesn't push her, just laughs with her words and nods his head. He taps his hands on the countertop, standing from his seat and clearing his throat.

"I should probably get going. I've left Harrison in charge for too long," he breathes, Y/N softly smiling at his words and she nods, seeing him to the door and stopping as they approached it.

"Thank you, again. For everything. You have no idea how much—" Tom cuts her off with the shake of his head, can hear the fear and upset in her voice as she chokes on her words.

"Don't be silly, love, it's fine. You have my number if you need anything, okay?" she nods at him, opening the door and offering a small smile and wave before she closes the door behind him.

Silently wandering down the hall, she opens the door to the spare room and peers inside, Rachel and Olivia curled into one another as sleep consumes their exhausted bodies.

Y/N rubs her eyes, knowing it was probably nearing 4 a.m. and she's thankful she didn't have work in the morning. She gently tosses the mugs in the sink, switching off the lights on the way to her room and she sinks into the soft sheets of her bed.

The second her head hits the pillow, her phone vibrates from beside her, catching her attention and she reads over the text with a tired smile.

**_Thanks for the tea, darling. Though next time I wouldn't mind some biscuits ;)_ **

**_Your FRIEND, Tom x_ **

 


	4. Realisations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom finds himself in the home of Y/N’s childhood again, while she slowly realises what an arse her boyfriend is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut; doggy style. Swearing, a little violence

"Ah, fuck," Tom breathes, hips snapping into the blondes ass and his grip on her hips tightens, knuckles turning white and he finds himself drowning in the sounds of her moans.

"Just like that," she cries out, rocking her hips back and forth as she slides up and down his cock, face pressing into the wood of his desk and Tom's hand rises in the air, slapping her soft skin and tugging a shrill from her lips.

"You like that?" he breathes, slapping her rear once more and gripping at her reddened flesh, pounding into her as fast as he can.

She snakes a hand between her legs, fingers rubbing on her swollen clit and she clenches around his cock, a string of unholy profanities sounding from the back of his throat.

He can feel himself slipping toward the edge, can feel the coil in his stomach preparing to snap and he pulls out of her, tearing off the condom and holding himself in his hand, pumping at a generous speed.

"On your knees, darling," he rasps, watching the blonde clamber to her knees and open her mouth, tongue drooping over her bottom lip as she gazes up at him through her lashes.

His release comes with a string of profanities following, hot white ribbons of arousal gracing the girls face and she tries to catch as much with her mouth as she can. Humming at the salty taste of him, she gives his swollen tip a gentle kiss and rises from her knees.

She pulls her skirt down with one hand, the other collecting the hot spurts he's shot on her cheek, and she sucks it off her fingers, eyes never leaving his and Tom can't hide the naughty grin on his lips.

"Pleasure doing business with you, darling," he winks, shoving himself back into his pants and adjusting the belt. He smacks her bum as she walks away, watching her look over her shoulder with a sultry smile before she disappears out of the office and down the hall.

Just as Tom watches her leave, Haz wanders in, eyes focused on the blonde's rear until he grins at his best friend. "See you're taking care of business," he quips, earning a stern scold from Tom as he buttons up his dress pants.

Tom smirks, though. "Well, she's got an arse on her," he shrugs, as though that's reason enough to fuck the shit out of her in the office. Haz shakes his head with a laugh, opening up the grey filing cabinet and pulling out the folder of members.

"Johnny hasn't paid up his membership for three months, you know," Haz mumbles as he flicks through the sheets, peering up at his friend who grins wickedly while adjusting his cufflinks.

"Letting him think he's got away with it, gonna pop one in his skull next week," he laughs, Haz shaking his head with a grin and shoving the folder back into the filing cabinet and locking it behind him.

Just as Tom is about to quip a snarky remark, his phone buzzes from his pocket, causing Haz to look at him in confusion. Haz always has hold of Tom's phone, his business one at least, so both men are beyond confused as to who is messaging him.

He knows it won't be his family. Paddy is at school, Sam and Harry no doubt at the clubs already, Dom is still in Paris, and Nikki is at the art studio. Nonetheless, he pulls the phone from his pocket and reads over the text.

**_From:_ ** _Y/N Wyatts_

_Hey, I know I'm the one that owes you, but I'm at work and I was wondering if you'd be able to spare like half an hour to run to my mum's and grab Olivia's school stuff? If not, don't worry about it, I know I'm being cheeky to ask! :)_

"Who is it?" Haz pipes up, dusting off his hands and trying to peer over Tom's hand to get a look at the text. He pulls his phone to his chest before Harrison can see anything, narrowing his eyes and Haz rolls his while taking a step back.

"It's Y/N, needs me to pick something up for her quick," he mumbles, texting a reply that said he'll drop by in the next hour and receives a message back that tells him the spare key is in the cup of the outdoor light.

"Y/N, aye? What are you, her personal assistant now?" Haz teases, grabbing Tom's briefcase of money as they begin to wander out of the office. Tom shakes his head and lets out a breath, both of them blocking out the cheers and the music as the highly overpaid girls roll their bodies against the silver and golden poles.

"Mate, she's a friend," Tom insists, the dreary sky welcoming them as they leave the building. David, their driver, stands beside the SUV, holding a black umbrella to protect himself and his overly gelled back hair from the drizzling London rain as he awaits his bosses.

He's quick to open the doors for them; Tom climbing in first and scooting over as Harrison quickly follows. David closes the door and shakes the water from the umbrella, jumping in the driver's seat and starting up the engine.

"You don't have friends, Tom. You have girls on standby and business associates, half of which are scared shitless of you," Haz scoffs, shaking his head at his best friend's lame excuse and Tom grits his teeth.

"I have friends,  _Y/N's_  my friend," Tom snaps back, and for some reason, he feels upset that Haz didn't believe him. Y/N isn't one of his many girls on standby, and she isn't a business associate. She's a  _friend_.

"You've known her all but a week, mate," Haz argues back, lips gently pinching the cigarette in his mouth as he sparks up the light, bringing it to the tip of the stick and just as it catches alight, Tom flicks it out of his mouth.

"Newly friends," Tom smiles innocently, loving the scold on his face as he picks up the cigarette and relit it, keeping it as far away from Tom as possible. Harrison inhales the smoke, Tom grimacing at the stench of the nicotine and opening the window, not caring that the storm from a few nights ago continues to brew in the air.

* * *

 

"Wow, that's crazy," she stares at him with pursed lips, biting back the scream she so desperately wants to shriek. Lewis sits opposite her, scarfing down a half a baguette as they sit outside the small cafe on her lunch break. She's just told him what happened a few nights ago, and all he can say is that.

Y/N nods and hums to herself, taking a deep breath to calm her anger and clear distaste. "Yeah, so mum and Olivia are staying with me for a little while," she concludes, stabbing her fork into half a bombay potato and shoving it into her mouth.

This seems to catch his attention as Lewis stops chewing and drops his greasy meatball sub back on the crumbled wrapper, the sauce spilling from the sides and Y/N grimaces.

"What do you mean,  _they're staying at your place?_ " he questions, somewhat defensively as though he isn't happy about his girlfriend's decision. Yes,  _girlfriend_. Though, Y/N's family, and sometimes Y/N herself wonders why she is even with him.

"I mean they're staying at my flat, Lew. They don't wanna go back home where that happened,  _I_  don't want them to go back there, either," she insists, shaking her head and biting into a piece of bread she ordered on the side of her lunch.

"But you know what that means, right? That we can't Christen every room in the new flat," he says in a hushed tone, brows furrowed and eyes serious, and it takes everything in the girl opposite him not to throw her drink in his face.

Y/N scoffs. "Is that seriously what you're worried about? You're bloody unbelievable sometimes," she shakes her head and spits her words through gritted teeth, crossing her fork over her knife and closing her eyes.

She lets out a sigh as Lewis stares at her in confusion. " _I'm unbelievable?_  What 'ave I done now?" he yelps out, gaining the attention of the older couple from the table beside theirs, and Y/N offers a quiet apology before turning to her boyfriend in bewilderment.

"My mum was almost stabbed, Lewis, and all you're fucking worried about is having sex!" she spits, eyes burning with fury and all the boy does is roll his eyes and slouch back in the small metal seat, arms crossing over his chest as he shakes his head.

"She didn't get stabbed, Y/N, stop being dramatic," he scoffs, waking the lion within and she abruptly stands from her seat. Y/N grabs her purse and throws it over her shoulder, glaring at Lewis the entire time.

He lets out a sigh, dragging a hand down his stupid face as he watches her. "What are you doing?" he asks tiredly, somewhat agitated by her sudden burst and Y/N throws a tenner on her plate.

"Being dramatic _. Fuck off_ , Lewis. Call me when you grow the fuck up," she hisses, jaw clenching so hard she nearly feared it may break. She turns her back to him and walks away, the jump in her step now replaced by a dull strut as she rounds the corner and makes her way back to work twenty minutes early.

* * *

 

"Everything okay, Mr. Holland?" David asks from the driver's seat, eyes flickering between the road and rearview mirror in which he watches the mobster bite down on his bottom lip with furrowed brows.

The sound of his voice brings him back to reality and he offers a small smile to his driver, "I'm quite alright, Dave, how's the family?" Dave has been his driver since Tom took over the Mob, three years ago, and Tom is quick to confide in the slightly older man. He always had wise advice, and Tom appreciated that he knew when not to get involved.

Dave chuckles to himself at Tom's question, "Carrie turns fifteen next Saturday, wants a party, and the wife still insists she's right about that lasagne joke," Dave laughs halfheartedly, pulling a smile from Tom's lips.

"Ah, I'll make sure drop a card in along with a little something else," he smiles softly, Dave nodding his head gratefully.

"You don't have to do that, Tom," he reminds him, the mobster shaking his hand dismissively and David purses his lips. "We appreciate it, truly." Dave nods, smiling so kind it almost set a warmth within Tom, reminding him of simpler times.

Just twenty minutes later, David pulls up at outside of Rachel's house, Tom's hands growing clammy at the thought of going inside someone else's home. He always gets nervous about that, but he's never been sure why.

"I won't be long, mate," Tom grunts as he climbs out of the SUV, dusting off his crisp suit and wandering down the drive toward the front door.

The close is eerily silent for midday on a Thursday afternoon, though he supposes that would be due to half of its residents being at work, gaining some sort of income before returning to their families later this evening.

Tom can't relate.

Squinting at the outdoor light, he carefully reaches into the cup of it, fingers grasping the cool metal of the spare key Y/N had told him about. Sliding it into the lock, he twists and gently shoves the door open, stepping inside and kicking it closed behind him.

Tom takes a look of the place, pearly white walls littered with family photos, a deep red rug sitting atop the hardwood floor of the foyer. Looking at the wall opposite him, he notices the stairs, something he didn't see when he came bursting through the door almost a week ago.

On his left, an archway leads off to a reasonably sized lounge, and his right, another arch that he remembers walking under that night he raced into the kitchen. He shakes his head and lets out a sigh.

Flicking on the light by the stairs, the entryway lights up and he climbs the steps, flicking on the light at the top of the hallway as he's faced with a short, rectangular hallway, and four closed doors equally spread across the walls.

To his left, a bright yellow plaque catches his eye, the name  **'Olivia'**  stamped in black bulky letters. He twists the doorknob, peering his head inside as he flicked on the light, and a soft glow illuminating the room.

It's bare... organised. The walls are a sharp white and not one crinkle in her grey bed sheets can be seen. Everything is in perfect order, from the symmetrical curtains on either side of the window, to the perfectly written homework sitting at her desk.

Tom nods to himself, somewhat impressed by the sheer cleanliness of the teenager's room. He snags her homework off her desk, along with the bag that sits on her chair, assuming it's her school bag with her books and computer in.

He leaves the room, flicking off the light and closing the door, and as he's about to walk back downstairs, he freezes for a moment.

He's intrigued, but he knows that isn't a good enough excuse for what he's about to do. He wanders to the end of the hall, standing outside the door that has Y/N's name on it and he hastily opens the door and steps inside.

It's tidy, a little clutter on the surfaces and it feels homely. Pretty fairy lights hang around the body length mirror, little Polaroid's of her and her friends slotted between the frame and the glass. He smiles as he looks over them.

Such a happy girl.

Her bed is neatly made, pillows full and blankets fuzzy. The sight of it is inviting, and Tom finds himself wondering what it'd be like to be cuddled up between those sheets with her.

He shakes his head and carries on looking. The room is relatively small, despite it fitting in a small double bed, chest of drawers, a desk, and a broken art easel in the corner.

Thomas finds himself gravitating toward her work, the pastel paintings scattered over the surface of her desk and a few oil paints beneath those. They're good.  _Amazing_ , actually, and he wonders why she hasn't taken that as a career rather than the shitty office job she currently occupies.

His vibrating phone breaks him from his little mindful wander, and he digs his way through his pockets to retrieve it, already knowing who it'll be from.

**_From:_ ** _Y/N Wyatts_

_Hey! Don't worry about going to mums, just got off work, I'll pop round there myself x_

He smiles at the kiss, quickly texting a reply that he's already there and on his way back to her flat. Placing her portraits back in their original places, he ventures out of her room and down the hall and stairs, turning off all the lights and leaving the house, locking the door behind him.

After returning the key in the little lamp holder, and a long drive back to Y/N's complex, Tom finally stands outside her door, knocking gently on it and waiting for her to greet him with a tired grin.

Though, much to his disappointment, she doesn't open the door. A man does. Tom frowns at him. "Where's Y/N?" he immediately asks, the unfamiliar face beefing up his shoulders in an attempt to look tough, and Tom fights back a roll of his eyes.

The man clears his throat. "Who's asking?" he rasps, voice deeper than it usually is and Tom is about ready to cap the guy off and walk in. He refrains, though. Knows Y/N probably wouldn't appreciate a dead body on her door.

"A friend," he answers shortly, jaw set as he quickly grows impatient. The man is about to speak when hurried footsteps cut him off and Y/N pops into Tom's view, smiling brightly and letting out a sigh of relief.

She shoves the man out of the way. "You are a fucking angel, Tom!" she gushes, watching him hold up Olivia's bag and homework folder in his hands. She takes them from him, offers a small hug, and ushers him inside.

She turns to Lewis and shakes her head, silently reassuring him Tom is all good and they're simply friends. "S'no problem, love. How's your mum and Olivia? Where are they?" he asks as he sits on the same stool he sat at a few nights ago.

Y/N pauses for a moment, her face softening and heart skipping a little. She knows it shouldn't, but it feels nice to know he cares for her family enough to ask how they are. Tom and Y/N are only just friends and he always helps whenever she needs.

Her and Lewis have been dating for years, and yet the moment he walked through the door, he pinned her to the wall and attacked her neck with kisses. Didn't even bother to see if her Mum and sister were home. In fact, he still hasn't asked their whereabouts or how they are doing after the whole ordeal.

She clears her throat and shakes the thought from her mind. "Oh, yeah they're okay, thank you. Olivia's at her friends and mum's on the night shift," she explains, flipping on the kettle and Lewis leans against the wall with arms folded over his chest and a stern expression.

Tom frowns, nicking a gummy worm from the packet she was holding and popping it into his mouth. "Back to work already? It's barely been a week," he mumbles out, stealing another sweet and Lewis squints.

"I know, I told her she shouldn't go back yet, but she just wants to return to normality. I think staying here just keeps reminding her of what happened, but I'm worried how she's gonna be when she goes back to the house," Y/N sighs, her back to Tom as she pours two mugs of tea.

Lewis clears his throat, trying to gain the girl's attention and she spins around with slightly wide eyes and gently flustered cheeks, that luckily, neither of them can see. She sets Tom's tea in front of him, taking a sip of hers before placing it on the counter.

"Oh, sorry. Tom, this is Lewis. Lewis, this is Tom," she briefly introduces the two, not bothering to educate either on their occupation. How can she casually bring up he's  _the_  Tom Holland, King of London's greatest Mob?

"Her boyfriend," Lewis adds, nodding his head to the mobster, who raises a brow and turns back to Y/N with pursed as he bites back a grin. Y/N clears her throat, ridding the laugh the itches to have laughed and she scratches her head.

"Right," he taps his hands on the counter, grinning at the girl before standing from his seat and taking a step closer to her. "I better get going. The Mob isn't going to run itself, aye darling," he teases, loud enough for Lewis to hear and he stills.

Y/N lets out a little laugh through a sigh, nodding her head and offering a little hug as he presses a small kiss to her cheek in a friendly manner.

"Thank you again for picking those bits up for Olivia. I owe you twice, now," she smiles, walking him to the door where Tom simply shook his head and adjusted his black suit.

"Nonsense, love. It's what friends are for," he winked, Y/N shaking her head with a laugh before she waves him goodbye. As she closes the door, Lewis grips hold of her arm and forces her to turn around.

He keeps his grip on her skin, the flesh beginning to bruise and she winces at his sudden aggression. "The fucking  _Mob?_  Tom  _fucking_ Holland? Are you insane!? Do you  _know_ what he's capable of?" he spits at her, shaking her arm.

Y/N grits her teeth and shoves him as best as she can. " _Do you?_  Want me to call him back?" she taunts through the words she spits, his grip on her arm immediately ceasing and she rubs over the sore skin, still sending daggers to her so-called boyfriend.

"That's what I thought," she snaps, pushing past him.

* * *

 

The prisoners line up one by one, orange overalls the only bright colour in sight as their hands remain cuffed to their front. "Richards, five minutes," a Caucasian officer speaks gruffly, shoving Martin into the chair at the steel table before leaving.

Martin looks up from the cuffs, eyeing the two familiar men and swallowing back the lump in his throat. "What are you doing here? How did you get on my visitor's list?" he asks wearily, not wanting to piss them off any more than he already has.

The blond shakes his head while the black man leans forward over the table slightly. "You owe us some money," he reminds Martin, eyebrows raised and Martin looks to the blond for help, though doesn't receive any.

"I- I don't have it. I don't have  _anything_ ," he rushes out, and for once, he's telling the truth about something. He doesn't have fuck all.

"Well you better fucking get it, or you're dead," the blond spits, their voices quiet and low so the other prisoners and officers don't hear.

Martin wracks his brain for a solution but keeps coming up short. Until he thinks of her, the money he knows she has saved because he's constantly breaking into it to pay off his dealers.

"I- I know someone who has the money," he stutters out, eyes lighting up with a small glimmer of hope, but the black man shakes his head. "Not someone,  _you_ ," he reminds him.

Martin shakes his head. "No, she's family, just tell her you're friends of mine and she'll give you the money," he reassures the dealers, nodding his head in an attempt to make himself believe it too.

"Who is she?" the blond pipes up again, voice an octave softer than before but Martin lets out a little sigh of relief anyway. He scratches the back of his neck, wondering if she'll actually pay up the money or not, but it's the only option he has.

"My step-daughter, Y/N Wyatts."


	5. Platonic? Yeah, Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Y/N find themselves on a platonic date when she gets an unexpected and uninvited visitor.

She rolls off him, swallowing back that familiar lump in her throat and she lets out a little sigh. He laughs through his breathy pants from beside her, completely spent as he comes down from his high, hand over his chest and the other over his forehead.

She stands from the bed, tugging on her dressing gown and slipping her feet into her slippers, completely ignoring the calls of her name that tumble from his lips. It's been three days since she's spoken to Tom, and though they're only new friends, she misses the odd text she'd randomly receive from him.

Rachel and Olivia are still staying with Y/N, though have promised to be out by the end of the week, which means tonight is their last night staying with her. They put themselves to bed earlier, leaving Lewis and Y/N up until midnight watching movies and then having sex for a short total of seven minutes before he busted a nut and that was that.

She should be used to this by now, by the lack of pleasure and release. To be fair, it's all she's ever known, never actually been able to get herself off completely, and Lewis never even tried. She often wonders if he knew that girls could cum, too. Or if he even cares, for that matter.

She scoffs at the thought and shakes her head, flicking on the kettle and grabbing her phone from her pocket, flicking through the few messages she has until she locks it and shoves it back into her pocket.

When the kettle boiled, she pours herself a steaming mug of tea and carries it to the sofa, taking a seat and sinking into the plush cream coloured cushions. The clock above the TV reads 2:47 a.m. and the darkness of the night makes her feel even more alone, despite three more people sleeping in her home.

Forty minutes away, in Kingston, Tom wipes his bloodied knife against his crisp white handkerchief, a small, tired smirk on his lips and the cries of a pleading man sound through his ears.

Tom is more than tired, to say the least, he's bloody exhausted. For the past couple of days, he's gotten a total of four hours sleep and has killed three men, now onto his fourth. The young mobster simply wants to sleep, but alas, duty calls.

"I promise, Mr. Holland, I'll get you your money!" The man pleads out through his pained cries, his futile begs falling deaf on Tom's ears when he hands Harrison the gun and nods to the begging man tied to the metal chair.

"Too little, too late," he calls out, walking out of the room and snatching his blazer jacket off the coatrack on his way. Thomas shrugs the jacket over his white shirt, calling for David to start up the car as he hops into the backseat.

"Back home, Mr. Holland?" David asks, starting up the engine as Tom coughs and rubs his hands together. "Please, David. Sorry to keep you so late," he mumbles out, relaxing into his seat as they pull out of their parking space.

"Not a problem, Mr. Holland, 's my job, after all," he lets out a lighthearted joke but Tom doesn't pay any attention to it, can feel his eyes rolling to the back of his head, exhaustion finally taking over.

As they drive down Hope Street, Y/N sits on her sofa in the same position she'd been in twenty minutes ago. Her eyes are heavy and she can feel herself beginning to lull into a soft slumber.

Before she can, her phone vibrates from her pocket, jolting her awake and she places the mug on the coffee table and retrieves her phone, the screen too bright to see until she adjusted the brightness.

**_From:_ ** _T. Holland_

_Hope all is well with you, love x_

She smiles to herself, a little amused at the 3 a.m. message, but overall quite thankful for it. She doesn't know whether it's the sleep deprivation or something else that makes her type out her next message, but she sends it before she realises it was somewhat inappropriate.

**_To:_ ** _T. Holland_

_All would be well if my boyfriend actually made me cum once in a while, lmao x_

Maybe it's because she felt close enough to talk to him about such personal things, or maybe it's because she wonders if he's the same as Lewis. Maybe if she tells him what girls like, the next one he fucks will enjoy it.

Either way, Tom grins to himself as he reads the message, brows slightly raised in amusement and her lack of filter and he wonders if it was due to the early hours of the morning. He does wonder why she's awake.

**_From:_ ** _T. Holland_

_Oh?_

_Not living up to your standards?_

Y/N scoffs to herself, shaking her head and snuggling into the blankets and cushions on the sofa.

**_To:_ ** _T. Holland_

_I don't exactly have standards when it comes to sex. When a guy actually makes me cum, that's when I'll have some..._

Tom frowns at her reply, confused as to how no man has ever made her feel good before. He wonders if maybe she's joking, but when a minute passes and another text doesn't come through, he knows she isn't kidding.

**_From:_ ** _T. Holland_

_Crikey, love.... Never?_

She lets out a sigh and types her next message.

**_To:_ ** _T. Holland_

_Nope, never. And, to be fair, I'm fairly sure none of the guys I've been with even know what a clit is_

Tom bites back a laugh, shaking his head at her bluntness, texting back a comedic reply and shoving his phone back into his pocket. The drive back to the house is silent, Tom's head leaning against the window as he watches the city night fly past him.

As they approached a red light, the car comes to a slow stop, the lights of an off-license catching Tom's gaze as a young couple stumbles out of the doors, drunken smiles on their lips and slurred giggles slipping off their tongues.

He watches the young man pull the girl into his chest, brushing her hair from her face and kiss her dark lips repeatedly, grinning at the sounds of her laughs. Tom purses his lips together at the sight of pure happiness and love. He wonders if he'll ever find that. A love so innocent yet passionate.

As the car begins to move again, the young couple is long gone from his view but remain at the front of his mind. Will he ever find anyone in this line of work? Can he ever even open himself up to anyone? Let anyone in? He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, shaking the thoughts from his head.

He's Tom  _fucking_ Holland, the King of the Mob. He's a coldhearted killer, a monster. No one can ever love him, and he can never allow himself to be vulnerable enough to ever fall for anyone either.

* * *

 

"You're sure you wanna go back? You know you can stay here as long as you like," Y/N reminds her Rachel and her sister, watching as they drag their bags to the front door and Rachel offers her daughter a tight-lipped smile.

"We have intruded long enough, babe. We can't ignore what happened forever," Rachel explains, Y/N pouting her bottom lip out playfully and Rachel shakes her head with a little laugh, pulling her daughter into her arms.

"Thank you, for having us, darling," she thanks her, rubbing her back and pulling away to allow Olivia to say goodbye. "See ya," she whispers, holding her older sister in her arms and pulling away with a lopsided smile.

She looks over Y/N's shoulder, watching as Lewis shovels another spoonful of Cornflakes in his mouth and she rolls her eyes, turning back to her sister with a grimace. "Get rid of him," she whispers, and though she always playfully said it, Y/N knows she's being serious.

She lets out a sigh and purses her lips, watching as Rachel and Olivia leave the flat and walk down the hall to the elevator with their bags traipsing behind them. She closes the door, turning back to look at her boyfriend and her sister's words stuck in her head.

_"Leave him, he doesn't treat you right."_

_"When was the last time he got your flowers, just because?"_

_"He chose his friends over you?"_

_"When are you gonna see that he doesn't love you like you love him?"_

She frowns to herself, her feet carrying her toward him and before she knows it, she's sitting on the coffee table, blocking his view of the TV Tom had gotten her.

"You're in the way of the-"

"Can we go out tonight? You know, for dinner, bowling? A date?" she cuts him off with the question, hope bubbling over and she prays to God that he'll prove her wrong. Lewis drops the spoon back into his bowl, swallowing his food and sighing.

"Out with the boys. Archie's throwing a Halloween party," he speaks through a mouthful of cereal, chomping away at the food and Y/N sits back with pursed lips, a little sting aching in the centre of her heart.

"Oh?" she asks, head tilted and she wonders if maybe he'll ask her to join him like any other boyfriend would. But oh, how wrong she is. "Yeah. Anyway, I gotta go. Call you in a few days when I'm free," he mumbles, setting his bowl on the coffee table and standing from the sofa.

Without so much as a second glance at her, Lewis shoves his feet into his shoes, grabs his jacket and walks out of her flat, leaving her alone, confused, and incredibly hurt. Y/N's shoulders slump as she lets out a sigh of annoyance.

She should be used to this. Used to being pushed to the side and not feeling wanted. She should have expected this. So, why does she feel so hurt and betrayed? That, she doesn't know.

She spends the rest of her day running some errands and watching a movie at home, and when 5 p.m. rolled around, she began preparing dinner, always cooking more than she needed so she could freeze the leftovers and have them another day.

Just as she pours herself a little glass of wine, a knocking on the door catches her ears. She wanders to the door, swinging it open in hopes of seeing Lewis, but a smile grows nonetheless at the sigh of the Mobster at her door.

"Hello, love," he smiles brightly, hair slightly messy on his head, hands stuffed into the pockets of his pants. Y/N gleams, opening the door wider for him to waltz in, press a kiss to her cheek and take his usual seat at the kitchen island.

"What you cooking, darlin'? Smells lovely," Tom compliments, watching her close the door and join him in the kitchen. She grins, "Lasagne. I made enough if you want some," she offers, grabbing him a beer from the fridge and offering it to him.

"If it tastes as good as it smells, why not," he grins back, a toothy smile on show and Y/N blushes a little to herself. "Believe me, it tastes better," she teases, popping off the cap of his beer bottle and throwing it in the bin.

Tom smiles at her, thankful for her welcoming arms and how in a matter of seconds, she seems to make him forget the troubles he's dealing with. "How's work?" she asks softly, though Tom could sense the hint of hesitancy in her words.

He eyes her over his bottle of beer before setting it back on the counter and clearing his throat. "Work is work," he tells her, eyes locked on hers and she purses her lips to hide a little smile, nodding her head and turning back to the oven.

The pair spend the evening drinking wine and beer, stuffing their faces with Y/N's homemade lasagne and sharing stories from their childhoods. Lewis is long forgotten as Y/N takes another swig of her wine and leans her head on Tom's shoulder.

He rests his cheek on her head, a lightness bubbling over him and he can't help the smile on his lips. He feels at home with her, can be the happy self that he always has to hide for work, which is a constant.

Before he can say anything, a tapping at the door cuts him off and Y/N struggles to her feet and wanders to the door, Tom watching her hips sway and he shakes his head and looks back at the old movie that's playing.

She opens the door with a smile, eyebrows raised when she notices the two tall men standing in the hall, hands in their pockets and dressed in scruffy clothing. "Can I help you?" she asks softly, the light buzz of the alcohol making her less alert and more relaxed by her surroundings.

"You Y/N Wyatts?" The blond asks, the black man beside him crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head at the girl. Y/N's smile drops a little and her grip on the door tightens. She eyes the men carefully, clearing her throat and looking back up at them.

"Um, who's asking?" she asks, voice a wavering mess and that familiar feeling of uneasiness creeps its way upon her. Tom notices her posture fall from his seat on the sofa, though he can't see who's at the door.

The men before her clear their throats. "We're friends of Martin, your stepdad," they say lowly, Y/N's heart sinking to the pit of her stomach and she swallows back the bile that threatens to climb up her throat.

"No- I... You should-" she cuts herself off as she tries to shut the door in panic, but the blond man shoved his foot inside, stopping her from doing so. The two men push their way closer, fighting with her to get into the flat and Tom jumps up from the sofa at the sound of the commotion.

His once heartwarming smile is replaced by his usual cold exterior, the same one that sends chills through any man's body with just one glance. He rushes over to Y/N, hand in the back of his pants and he retrieves his gun, pulling it out and the barrel of it stared at the blond man's face.

"Oh my God, Tommy..." Y/N sucks in a breath with wide eyes at the sight of him pointing a gun at someone. She knows he does this for a living, knows he's dangerous, but seeing it first hand is something entirely different, and for the first time, she feels scared.

The two intruders suddenly back away with surrendering hands and wide eyes. They know who he is,  _everyone_ knows who Tom Holland is, and the men are frantically searching their brains for a way to get out of their inevitable death sentence.

He reels back the safety, readying himself to end them there and then, but the choked sob of the girl in the corner catches his ears. Tom turns his head ever so slightly, watching as Y/N curls into herself with wild eyes and quivering lips.

"Darling..." he doesn't have to say anything else for her to know what he's trying to get at. With her arms around herself, she rushes past him and into her room, locking the door and falling to the ground.

Tom shoves the men outside, slamming them both against the wall with one hand wrapped around each of their necks. He taunts them, coaxes them into telling him what they're doing here if they want to keep their lives. 

He sends them both back off with two black eyes, a busted lip, one broken arm, and a message to relay back to Martin.  _Stay the hell away._

He closes the door and locks it, rushing to Y/N's bedroom and gently tapping on the door. His gun was long forgotten, shoved in the briefcase he'd brought with him. "Darling, open the door, it's me," he gently coaxes, voice soft and Y/N swallows back her tears.

Unlocking the door, she slowly opens it, crashing into his chest in a fit of sobs as he catches her in his arms. Tom cradles the back of her head, softly shushing her and his fingers gently massage her scalp. She clings onto him, his once neat shirt now crumbled in her fists but he doesn't care.

All he cares about, in this moment, is calming Y/N down and keeping her safe. All he wants is to make her feel better, to take away that fear and fright she's just encountered, to remind her that even though he's a bad guy, he'll always be good to  _her_.


	6. Twists, Turns, and the One That Burns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When their friendship hits a sudden change, Tom is greeted again by his father but refuses to help him in his time of need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Swearing, fluff, smut; masturbation

 

"Hey, you're okay, love," he coos, large hand rubbing over her back in a soothing manner. Her body shakes with each tear she sobs out, breathing staggered as she soaks Tom's shirt.

He doesn't mind, holds her closer to his chest and it isn't long before he's rocking them back and forth on her bedroom floor, her breathing returning to its somewhat normal state and her cheeks are blotchy and dried with tears.

"I'm sorry, for pulling out the gun, I'm... I shouldn't have done that," Tom apologises profusely, shaking his head at his own stupid actions and he fears he's lost her friendship, fears she won't be able to look at him again.

Y/N pulls away with a sniffle, wiping her eyes with the pads of her fingers and shaking her head. "It's just... I knew you did that stuff for a living, but seeing it first hand, it's... it's just..." she can't find the right words, doesn't want to upset him, but Tom understands.

He shakes his head and purses his lips. "It's okay, I get it, you don't have to explain yourself. I'm sorry, I am, and I understand if you don't want to be friends anymore," he tells her.

Tom feels like a kid on the school playground, apologising to the girl he likes because he accidentally pulled her hair while they were playing. But he's a grown man, a  _King_ who doesn't have to apologise to anyone, but he feels his heart crack at the thought of her not accepting it... not accepting  _him_.

Y/N swallows back the lump in her throat, tucking her hair behind her ear and she finally looks up at him with a pitiful smile. His heart leaps at the sight, her teary eyes burning into his and in that moment, he swears he'll do anything to prevent her from feeling this way ever again.

"What? No, I want to be your friend, Tom. You're about the only good thing I've got right now, and I'm not ready to lose that," she admits through a soft whisper and Tom can't help but frown at her words.

She has her family; her sister, mother, and father. She has a boyfriend (given, Tom doesn't like him), she has everything he doesn't have and he wonders why she isn't happy with it.

"You have a family and a boyfriend that care and love you, Y/N. How is a mobster the only good thing you have in your life?" he asks gently, voice an angelic whisper to her ears and she looks at him with that same pitiful smile again.

"My family love me because that's what families do. My boyfriend,  _if you can even call him that,_ " she mumbles, "doesn't love me, doesn't care about me. The Halloween party he's at right now proves that." She sighs and slumps back against the wall.

Her legs are outstretched, knees bent and toes touching the wall opposite her. Tom sits in the same position, back leaning on the wall of her feet with his hands in his lap.

"My coworkers are bitchy and rude, my friends couldn't give a shit about me because I don't want to spend my weekends getting pissed and waking up in someone else's bed the next morning," she huffs, her upset replaced by anger and her blood begins to boil.

"My boss is a perv that can't keep his hands to himself, my dad is never home and always travelling for work. My mum's still in love with him and distracts herself with that fuck Martin, but it just made things worse."

She's rambling now, spewing her guts to the King of the Mob in hopes that maybe he'll listen, that maybe he'll remember her fears and insecurities. That maybe... he will be there when everyone else leaves.

"My sister is a smart girl but ruins her life by getting into meaningless trouble and my  _boyfriend?_  He calls me when he wants sex and doesn't even get me off. He doesn't care about me, Tommy, he doesn't care."

Tom can almost hear her heart shatter with every word she stutters out, his own heart sinking at the sheer loneliness she begins to describe. It isn't long before she's sobbing into her knees and Tom is sitting beside her, pulling her into his chest and keeping her close.

He isn't used to this, to comforting other people, but it comes so naturally to him as he coaxes her down from her crazed thoughts and brings her back to reality. She's nuzzled her face into his neck, nose brushing against the soft skin and she inhales the sweet scent of his faint cologne, allows it to bring her comfort.

Looking up at him through soaked lashes and teary eyes, he cranes his neck so he can get the best view of her reddened face and those swollen lips. Neither of them knows what rushes over them, but they inch closer, eyes locked on one another's lips and before they know it, they're kissing.

Tom can taste her tears that stained her pink flesh, can feel the plumpness of her bottom lip as he gently sucks it into his mouth and she sighs. He cups her cheek in his hand, pulling her closer to him as their lips moved in a perfectly soft unison.

It's like their lips are two puzzle pieces, don't fit with anyone else but each other. Y/N finds herself lost in the pure passion and love that he offers in such a simple yet intimate act, and she's weak in the knees, thankful she's already sitting on the ground.

And Tom? Tom can't believe what's happening. It's something so foreign yet so  _right_. He's used to the rushed and messy kisses, the angry ones with cheap hookups. But her?  _Jesus Christ_ , she feels like heaven. Her touch is soft, lips as sweet as the candyfloss he used to eat on the night of the carnival as a kid.

He's lost in the taste of her, lost in the way her tongue swiped across his bottom lip and slithered its way into his warm mouth. His mind is in a frenzy, but she's the calm in the storm, pulling him back into reality as they slowly pulled away to catch their breaths.

She looks up at him, bottom lip caught between her teeth and she can still taste him as he can still taste her. They don't say anything, they don't need to. While the kiss means everything, it means nothing at all.

It doesn't and won't change a thing. Friends are all they are and all they'll ever be. A kiss that means everything changes nothing. Nothing, but the way they both look at each other, and while in this moment, they both tell themselves it's only a kiss, deep down, they both know it's the beginning of a storm.

* * *

 

"You were out pretty late last night," Harrison quips with a small smirk as he watches Tom wander into the kitchen in a pair of old sweatpants and a black t-shirt.

Tom rolls his eyes at his best friend and rummages through the fridge, pulling out a carton of orange juice and drinking straight out of the box. Harrison grimaces.

"Was at Y/N's, was some trouble," he briefly explains, earning a raised brow from his friend in return and Tom rolls his eyes again.

"Her fuck of a stepdad sent some guys to her flat to get money. I sent them back with black eyes and a broken arm," he shrugs, finishing off the rest of the juice and throwing the box in the bin, closing the fridge door with his arm.

Harrison purses his lips and nods, looking back at the paper he's reading and Tom sits opposite him, stealing a slice of his toast.

"Don't pretend you don't remember, I know you've been seeing her sister, Olivia," Tom quips back, brows raised and Harrison's face grows beet red.

"No idea what you're talking about, mate," Harrison tries to brush him off, Tom's grin only growing as he shakes his head and leaves him alone in the kitchen, wandering back to his sleeping quarters and into his bathroom.

He twists the knobs of the shower, the hot water pelting down as he strips from his sleeping clothes, climbing into the shower and sliding the glass door closed behind him.

Thomas relaxes under the soothing pelts of hot water, his tense muscles loosening and he rolls the stress off his shoulders. Steam quickly surrounds him, casting a foggy set of condensation over the glass and mirrors of the bathroom.

He brushes his palm flat over his torso, feeling the little divots of flesh between his muscles until his hand reaches his pubic bone, a small stubble peeking through the skin and he lowers his hand, teasing himself a little.

He rubs under his length, gently squeezing his balls and closing his eyes at the sweet sensation. Can feel the excitement rushing through his blood, the way his length hardens at the thought of another touching him instead.

He slowly grasps his hardening cock, his skin so soft he squirms at the feeling. Tom gently tugs, pumping himself ever so teasingly until he's completely hard, rock-solid and begging for satisfaction.

With his head thrown back against the shower wall, Tom's fingers run up and down the length of his throbbing cock, his fingertips swirling over his pretty pink tip as it oozes precum.

"Fuck," he breathes, picking up his pace just enough to get some sort of relief and he finds himself picturing someone else. Wishing it was another's mouth rather than his hand that's making him feel this way.

"Shit, Y/N," he doesn't even realise he's moaning her name, can't help the way she's occupied his thoughts, and he knows it's wrong, but he can't help himself.

He pictures her on her knees for him, tongue swirling over his bulging cock as she takes him into her mouth.  _Oh God, that mouth._  Tom cam only imagine how wet and warm it'd feel around him.

From the opposite side of town, Y/N lays flat on her back, legs spread wide and knees bent, feet flat on her bed as she swirls her middle finger around her juices, teasing her entrance as she imagines it to be Tom's tongue.

Much like him, she doesn't understand why she can't get him off her mind, why she's getting herself off at the thought of his face between her thighs, but it doesn't stop her, and it doesn't stop him.

As she dips her finger in her pussy and curls against her spot, Tom pumps himself faster, picturing her pretty lips wrapped tightly around his cock while she runs her tongue around his needy tip.

Y/N arches her back, Tom's name slipping past her lips like a mantra as she presses that familiar toy to her clit, vibrations sounding through her body and she bucks up against her hand, desperate for it to be his face.

Tom cries out for her to keep going, can imagine her fondling his balls as she sucks him dry, can picture her rubbing her clit as she makes him cum and he feels himself nearing his edge.

She turns up the vibrations, crying out at the thought of him sucking her clit or pounding into her tight pussy with his thick cock, a cock she  _so badly_  craves.

Within seconds, Tom's exploding and crying out for her, blinded by his own orgasm as he splutters out her name.

Y/N's legs begin to shake, an unfamiliar feeling and she finds herself growing over sensitive, crying out for him until she pulls the vibrator away with a gasp and wide eyes, a knot forming in her stomach but she halters her movements before anything else can happen.

With Tom standing in the shower and Y/N laying on her bed, the pair begin to realise exactly what they've done, who they've thought of, and what the fuck this means.

* * *

 

"Where were you last night?"

Tom closes his eyes and lets out a sigh at the sound of his father's voice. He busies himself as he sits at his bureau desk, sorting through the mass of files and paperwork that his men had meant to do the night before.

"Out," he speaks shortly, looking over the computer monitor to stare at his father for a few moments before returning his attention to the stacks of folders.

Dominic Holland, former Mob King. Ex-husband to Nicola Frost, father of Thomas, Harry, Sam, and Paddy; the Holland men. He left his post three years ago, handing the position to his eldest son, Thomas.

A sarcastic laugh rumbles through Dom's chest at his son's words and he shakes his head. He pushes himself off the doorframe to Tom's office that he's leaning on... the same office that used to be his.

He takes a seat on the opposite side of the desk, leaning back with a scotch on the rocks in his hand and Tom peers over the computer screen once more with an annoyed look. "What do you want? Been two years since you last dropped by out of the blue, and you remember what happened last time, don't you?"

Dominic purses his lips as his son raised his brows. Of course, he remembers what happened the last time he visited, how can he forget. "Actually, son, I'm here because your family needs your help," he clears his throat, that cursed word catching Tom's ears and he raised an eyebrow.

"Mum and the boys are my family. And they're perfectly fine," Tom spits through gritted teeth, throwing his pen onto the pile of paper and leaning back in his chair. Dominic purses his lips and leans forward, elbows leaning on his thighs and he clasps his hands together.

"Like it or not, Thomas, we're blood, so we're family," Dominic grows frustrated and Tom's brows shoot to his hairline and a humorous laugh tumbles off his lips. "That's your take on this? Blood doesn't  _fucking_ mean family, Dominic. Not after what you did," Tom spits and points at his father.

Dom lets out an aggravated sigh and drags his hand down his face, shaking his head at his son's stubbornness but what does he expect? All Hollands are raging hotheads whether they like to admit it or not.

"If your mother can forgive me, then so can you," Dom bargains, Tom scoffing in reply and he shakes his head while standing from his leather throne. "That's 'cause mum is an angel and she loved you," Tom snaps, hands shoving the paperwork to the ground as he stomps over to the older man.

Dominic backs away, knows Tom is dangerous when his anger got the better of him and within two seconds, Dom is pinned to the wall with Tom's hand around his throat. "You put us all through shit!  _You're_  the reason mum can't trust another man!  _You're_ the reason Paddy is scared of the dark!  _You're_ the reason Sam and Harry are fucked up! And it's because of  _you_ that I can't fucking love anyone!"

Tom is sobbing now, tears freefalling and skin an angry red. Dom knows his past mistakes have come back and to haunt him, but he always hoped his sons would be as forgiving as their mother, this just proves him wrong.

"Now get the fuck out," Tom spits, releasing his grip on his throat and shoving past him and out of the office.

Dominic is left in his old office all alone, the loneliness of previous nights creeping upon him, and the overwhelming fear is quick to return. He's in the kind of trouble that not even his son can help him out of. The kind of trouble that slowly but surely kills you. The kind of trouble you need to face with your family by your side.

The kind of trouble known as a stage four brain tumour.


	7. Out of Spite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom is there to pick up the pieces when Y/N finds herself in trouble, and a member of his family immediately takes a liking to her.

Nicola Elizabeth Frost is a strong woman. She's a fierce lover, a loyal friend, and a protective mother. Nicola Frost is an artist. A passionate, creative, and incredibly talented artist. Her eye for good art has been passed down from her great-grandfather, a man of wit and intelligence, much like her father and her sons.

Nicola Frost is a determined woman. She fights for what she wants and rarely takes 'no' for an answer. So, when she shows up at her son's front door for the first time in four months, Tom is far from surprised. Has made sure he has her favourite wine in.

While Nicola Frost is cunning, kind, and strong, she's also something else. Predictable. At least, to her eldest son, who knows her better than she knows herself. She often wonders how the man she still saw as a boy could know so much. How he could see through her lies when she tried to protect him.

So, she doesn't bother plastering on a fake smile. What's the point? Instead, she greets her son with pursed lips and soft eyes, arms open and pulling him into a hug before he can utter out a 'hello'.

"Hi, mum," he mumbles, chin resting on her shoulder and he wraps his own arms around her. Nikki gives him a gentle squeeze before pulling away. Tom ushers her inside, closing the huge white door and her heels click against the marble floors.

She takes in the foyer of the castle-like mansion. Nothing much has changed since her last visit. In fact, nothing much has changed since she and Dominic were pronounced the previous owners of it just twenty-four years ago.

The building holds its original features, the spirals of the ceiling and thick white pillars throughout. No matter how many terrifying memories that rush back to her mind, the place still feels like home. It's still the building that Tom took his first steps in, the building Nikki gave birth to Paddy in.

It's still home. Just not  _hers_.

"I'd ask what you're doing here, mum, but I'm ninety per cent sure it has everything to do with Dominic," Tom clears his throat, leading her to lounge, taking a seat in an old armchair and Nikki sits on the plush, white loveseat.

Folding her leg over the other, she rests her hands on her knees, picking at the small threads of fabric from the tears in her jeans.

"Why do you hate him so much, Thomas?" she asks with a sigh, head slightly tilted to the left and Tom closes his eyes at his Mother's words, biting back the need to yell.

His mother is an absolute angel, she doesn't deserve the wrath of his anger, so he controls himself and takes a deep breath. "Why  _don't_ you?" he asks back, brows furrowed, though a soft look adores his sweet face.

Nikki purses her lips and looks down at her hands. "You forgive those you love, Thomas. He did a bad thing but people make mistakes," she argues, tries to make him see that all is forgiven, but she knows her efforts are futile.

Tom scoffs. "A mistake? So,  _what_... ruining a twenty-five-year relationship was a fucking mistake?" Tom all near yelps, face hardening and Nikki looks down at her hands again. "Twenty- _seven_ years," she corrects him under her breath, and Tom swears he feels his heart shatter.

He ushers closer to her, sitting by her side and rubbing a hand over her back. "He ruined you, mum, he  _ruined_ this family. And you and I both know, it wasn't the first time, either," he speaks carefully, can feel his mum stilling beneath his hand.

She twists her head slightly and Tom lets out a sigh. "Did you really think I was as clueless as the boys? I knew something was wrong the second you walked into my room to read me a story," he whispers, anger long forgotten and replaced by sadness.

"He makes me sick, mum. You might be able to forgive him, but I can't. Whatever trouble he's got himself into, he's on his own. I'm sorry, mum, I just won't help him."

* * *

 

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!" Y/N yelps out, rushing through her flat while shoving her hair into a messy ponytail. Her sock-clad feet skid across the wooden floorboards and she shoves an apple into her purse, grabbing her keys and phone from the counter.

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck!_ " she continues to curse, feet slotting into a pair of slip-on shoes and she runs out of the door, closing it behind her and racing down the hall to the elevator.

She woke up late, an entire hour late, which means she'll likely be an entire hour late to work. She starts in thirty minutes and seeing as she's missed her bus, she has to run an hours walk in twenty-five minutes.

Her hair is a state, face free of makeup except for a little mascara she's managed to apply while brushing her teeth. Her skin has broken out a little, clothes a mismatched disaster, and she's fairly certain her shoes are on the wrong feet.

Nonetheless, she throws her bag over her shoulder and runs through the crowded streets of London, uttering apologies every ten seconds as her shoulder nudges people as she rushes past.

The coldness of the morning is quickly getting to her, the lack of a second layer becoming a quick regret as she picks up her pace. Her nose is red and cold, lips blue and fingertips numb by the time she finally reaches the building.

She rushes through the doors, a sigh of relief slipping past her lips at the warmth that instantly surrounds her. With a lanyard in her hand, she signs in and races for the stairs, jumping up them two at a time before she reaches her floor.

Y/N pushes open the door, keeping her head down as she nears her little office cubicle, placing her bag on the desk and taking a seat on her chair, switching on the computer. Before she can even type her login details, a tap on her shoulder catches her attention.

Y/N spins around in her chair, looking up at the blonde who called her name. Amanda, her boss' personal assistant and the woman he's been having an affair with. "Brody wants to see you in his office," she purses her lips, taking in Y/N's appearance and holding back a snort.

She turns on her heels and leaves Y/N alone to dread what he'll say. She wanders to her boss' office, taking another deep breath and tapping her knuckles on the closed door. She hears him mutter a 'come in' and she reluctantly opens the door.

Brody's one of those rich boys that grew up in a private school and lived off their Daddy's trust fund. He's one of those men that believe he's above others simply because he's considered an attractive man.

In a way, he's exactly like Tom, and yet at the same time, nothing alike. Brody is arrogant, cocky, and mean. So is Tom, but in a completely different sense.

He sits lounged back in his leather chair, feet propped up on his desk and a cynical smile on his rotten lips. "Take a seat, Y/N, you must be exhausted after running so late to work today," he quips, leaning forward and his feet fall from the desk.

Y/N purses her lips and swallows thickly, sitting down and clasping her hands over her lap. "I was barely four minutes late," she argues back, feet still sore from running so fast and taking the most awkward shortcuts she possibly could.

"Late is still late, Y/N," Brody raises his voice at the girl, eyes stern and lips pressed together in a fine line. Y/N has a feeling where this is leading, but she keeps having to remind herself that she's been nothing but a star employee ever since she started two and a half years ago.

It's the only job she's ever known and one she's damn good at. It doesn't matter that she's only punching numbers and filing all things important. She likes her little desk that sits opposite the windows, the view of the city being something she's always loved.

She likes that she's only a ten-second walk from the entrance, and she likes that the hours never changed, that the job never changed. She likes the consistency, and right now, she knows a big change is heading her way.

"I can't allow tardiness, not in my company," he raises his brows as he speaks, Y/N's heart dropping a little and she huffs out, anger overtaking her need to beg for her job as she lets out a sarcastic laugh.

"That's rich. Considering this is the first time I've _ever_  been late, while your fuckbuddy, Amanda, is at least thirty minutes late once a week. But I suppose that's okay when you're sleeping with the boss."

* * *

 

"Tom? I know you're probably really busy, but could you or Harrison come and pick me up from work, please? I got fired," she sniffles into the phone, a small brown box full of her belongings by her side as she sits in the lobby with a hot cup of coffee.

She's sure the receptionists are mocking her from behind the desk, can tell by the way they look at her, then the box, then back at each other. Tom stills from the other end, walking out of his mini interrogation room and clearing his throat.

"Of course, love. I'll be right there," he promises as he hangs up the phone, leaving her to sink into herself until he arrived.

Tom sends Harrison a text, telling him to finish up while he runs some errands, and grabs his jacket while on the way to the garage. With keys in one hand and phone in the other, Tom unlocks the black Maserati and climbs in, kicking up the engine and unlocking the garage door.

Within seven minutes, Tom is pulling up outside Sanderson LTD, car catching the eyes of passersby's as he climbs out, keys in hand and he heads toward the entrance of the building.

From the window, Tom can see her sinking into the little orange sofa, notices the brown box by her feet and the two women grinning to each other from behind their desk. He frowns, jaw clenched and he pushes the glass door open, the grins falling from the women's faces and he knows they know who he is.

He gives them both a once over, noticing the way the redhead pushes her chest out and the brunette offers a shy smile while tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Tom huffs and turns to Y/N, a soft smile on his lips as he bends down and grabs the box, offering her a hand to help her stand up.

"Thank you. I owe you,  _again_ ," she laughs as best as she can, wrapping her arms around his middle to give him a hug and he presses a kiss to her forehead. "Not a problem, love. Anything for you, you know that." he reminds her, voice loud enough to catch the ears of the receptionists and they sink into themselves a little.

The blonde glares at Y/N, though she doesn't notice, too busy cuddled into the Mobsters side as he guides them out and to his car. He opens the passenger's door for her, helping her in and putting her box in the backseat.

As soon as Tom is in the driver's side and has started the engine, he turns to the tear-stained girl beside him and reaches over to grab her cold hand, the other occupied by holding a warm cup of coffee.

"Fancy coming round for a cup of tea? Think it's about time I make you one," he smiles gently, heart racing at the thought of her coming to his one safe place in the entire world. He wants to trust her, he already does, but this will be taking their friendship further.

She turns to him with a smile and nods her head a little. "Yeah, okay, if you're sure, though," she whispers, giving his hand a gentle squeeze and he nods his head, keeping his hold on her dainty hand as he pulls out of the parking space and drives away.

The ride to Tom's home is relatively quiet, very rarely exchanging anything more than subtle glances and smiles. By now, they're barely holding hands, fingers only just curled around one another's until Tom slowing as they approach his beloved home.

Y/N lets go of him, mouth gaping open and she leans  closer in her seat, getting a better view of the mansion before her. It's like the castles in fairytales her mother used to tell her as a child; tall and elegant, powerful and enchanting.

"Tom, this place is huge," she gushes, taking in the intricate design of the building as the tall, iron gates open like welcoming arms.

Y/N is on the edge of her heated seat, empty coffee cup long forgotten, along with the troubles of now needing to find a new job. The house is all she can see, all she can think.

She wonders if Tom lives all alone in such a gigantic home. Probably not, though. Probably has servants and all sorts, she's sure. "How many bedrooms?" she finds herself asking, watching it grow bigger as the car slowly pulls up outside the home.

"Twelve," Tom replies nonchalantly, killing the engine and climbing out of the driver's seat. He rounds the front of the car, pulling Y/N out of her trance when he opens her door and offers his hand.

She takes it, allowing him to pull her up and out before he leans in and retrieves her brown box of belongings from her old office. Y/N gapes at the mansion before her, jaw slack as she stares in awe, consumed by its sheer beauty.

A finger pressing on the bottom of her chin snaps her out of her daze and she notices Tom grinning comically at her. "You'll catch flies, love," he teases, hand on the small of her back as he leads them to the rustic double doors.

They're huge, much like the rest of the house. Coated in sheen white paint, glossy, with a large lion's mouth knocker on each door. Tom presses his hand against the left one and pushes it open, a small creak echoing through the lonely halls and Y/N's small heels tap against the marble floors.

The interior is even more impressive. She can tell it's an old home, the framework being old yet modernised. She knows the art that hangs on the walls is authentic and has to stop herself from squealing at the sight.

The entirety of the foyer is coated white, small silver and golden accents scattered around, like the ropes that bound the curtains open, or the golden light fixtures that hang from the walls and ceilings.

It's like a museum, a monumental piece of art that she finds herself savouring, finds herself memorising. She isn't sure why, though, but she supposes it's because he's dangerous. Guesses it's not for her to return.

Oh, how  _little_ she knows.

"Take the car back round to the garage for me, Kanen," Tom instructs, handing the keys to the man by the door as he watches Y/N admire his home. It feels odd, to have someone like her in his home. Someone so innocent, so  _normal_. 

"Let's get you that cup of tea, love," he breaks her trance one again, hand on her lower back as he leads her through the hall and into the kitchen. She's in even more amazement than before. 

Three ovens, two sinks, three fridges, and enough chairs to seat her entire floor of work. Or at least,  _old_ work. "Holy shit," she yells out, unable to use a filter when her brain is still trying to wrap its head around its surroundings.

"Never brought a friend here before, should consider yourself lucky," he laughs to her, approaching the kettle and ignoring the several tea and coffee machines on his way. He's always preferred a regular cup of tea, one he'll make himself, not one that goes through filters and such. 

"Well I'm honoured," she jokes back, hand on her heart as she takes a seat on one of the many bar stools that scatter the island. "Seriously though, you don't bring girls home to show it off?" she asks curiously, brows slightly furrowed as she stares at Tom's back. 

He chuckles at her words and naivety. "King of the Mob can't be bringing random girls back to his castle, now, can he?" he turns to her and wiggled his brows, loving the sound of her laugh that follows.

Turning his back on her, Tom finishes preparing the tea, adding some milk when she finally speaks up again. "I told Lewis about the kiss," and he stills, almost dropping the spoon.

Tom is quick to compose himself, grabbing her mug and he turns around, handing it to her and leaning on the island. "Oh..." he breathes, brow slightly raised as he watches her let out a shaky breath.

"What did he say?" Tom asks further, noticing the way she slowly begins to curl into herself, reminding him of that night he pulled the gun out. 

Tucking her hair behind her ear, she scratches her cheek and wraps her hands around her steaming mug. "Uh,  _nothing_. Said he doesn't care," she whispers, and Tom swears he misheard her.

_That he doesn't care?_

_... What?_

"Should I be upset that he doesn't care?  _I_  was the one in the wrong," she rambles, hands shaking ever so slightly and Tom purses his lips at the sight of her, brows scrunched together and he shakes his head.

"Love, you have every right to be upset," he reassures her, heart pulsing in his chest and he can feel it aching, can feel it tightening when she sniffles back a tear.

Before either one of them can say anything, Nikki enters the room, heels clicking on the marble floor. "Thomas, did you get what you needed— _oh_ ," she cuts herself off at the sight of a teary-eyed Y/N.

Tom sighs. "Mum, this is my friend, Y/N. Y/N, this is my mum, Nikki," he briefly introduces, Y/N quickly wiping her eyes and plastering on her best smile. "Hi, Mrs Holland, it's lovely to meet you," she greets, Nikki's face dropping a little and Tom chokes on his words.

"Actually, she's not-"

"Enough of the formalities, love, call me Nikki," she cuts off her son and waves a hand at Y/N, a little smile on her lips before she stares at Tom with gently squinted eyes, wondering why she's in her son's home. 

An awkward silence falls upon the three, lips pursed and eyes downcast until the brown box on the counter catches Nikki's attention. "What's with the box?" she asks, wandering closer to it and peering inside, pulling out a black folder and opening it.

"I uh, I got fired," Y/N sighs, the daunting need to find a new job heavy on her shoulders as Nikki flips through her black folder; the doodles from work. 

"These are incredible," Nikki gushes, a smile on her lips and even though she knows they're little doodles, she's completely entranced by the effortless talent that's scribbled on the paper. 

Y/N blushes at the compliment, a little smile on Tom's lips as he listens to her and his mother talk about art. They get along like family, laughing and giddy with excitement. He hasn't seen his mum smile like this in so long.

"Do you want to pursue a career in art?" Nikki asks, watching the girl smile a little to herself before she shrugs her shoulders. "I mean, it's always been my dream, but I don't think I'm good enough," she huffs. 

Nikki hits her arm playfully. "Enough of that. I know talent when I see it, okay? Come down to my art studio tomorrow with your portfolios. I'll have Tom send you the address," she smiles, Y/N frozen in her spot, stunned by her kindness.

"Nikki, you don't have to—"

"I don't want to hear it, okay?" she gives a stern yet playful look, a soft laugh slipping past Y/N's lips and she nods her head. "Thank you," she sighs, Nikki shaking her head with a small smile, watching the way her son gazes lovingly at the young woman.

"I've got some business to tend to, you gonna be alright here for a little while?" Tom asks Y/N, rounding the kitchen island to give her a peck on the cheek and then again to his mother. "She'll be fine, we've much to discuss," Nikki grins at the girl, easing Tom's nerves as he leaves the two women alone. 

"Thank you, again, Nikki. I appreciate this so much," Y/N sighs out in relief, a tight-lipped smile on her face and Nikki takes her hand in hers. "I do need a favour, in return," Nikki winces slightly, wondering if she should really go through with this.

Y/N nods, brows furrowed a little but she agrees nonetheless. "What is it?" she asks, though Nikki knows she'll help in any way she can, she isn't sure if she wants to pull the young girl into her family drama.

"I need you to talk to Tom..."

* * *

 

They sit in her living room, bodies close as an old film plays on the TV. Once Tom had finished with his business, he insisted he took Y/N home, and Y/N then insisted he stayed for a little while.

They've been home an hour, haven't spoken much but Y/N knows she needs to, knows she promised Nikki she would. She just isn't sure how to bring it up. Should she straight up ask? Ease it into the non-existent conversation?

"Can uh... can I ask you something?" she finally speaks up, opting for the former and she winces at the words that are quickly tumbling off her mouth. "Why won't you help your Dad?" Tom freezes at her words. 

"I- I know it's none of my business, but your mum, she—"

"But she what? Set you up to ask me about Dom?" Tom snaps, cutting her off and gritting his teeth.  _She's just like the rest of them,_  he tells himself.  _She's using you._

Y/N's eyes widen and she shakes her head, reaching for his hand, but he pulls away. "No, no, I.. I mean, she just asked me to—" she's cut off again by the angered roar of Tom's voice.

"To what!? To get involved in something you have no fucking idea about?" he shouts, face reddening in anger and Y/N swears her heart is climbing up her throat. 

"I'm sorry, Tommy. I never meant to upset you," she whimpers, eyes watering and she fears what he'll do. Fears she'll never see him again after this. Fears she's lost him all over a stupid question. 

"You're fucking unbelievable!" Tom yells, hands gripping in the locks of his hair and Y/N lets a tear slip, can't hold back the pain of hurting him. She watches him stand from the sofa and shake his head.

He wanders to the kitchen, grabbing his jacket and heading to the door. Y/N is hot on his trail, begging him to stay and apologising profusely. "Tommy, Tommy, stop, please. I'm sorry," she begs, tears like waterfalls she has no control over.

Tom turns to her, heart breaking at the sight and the pain, but all he does is laugh and shake his head, opening the door and looking at her once more. "I can't believe I fucking trusted you," he spits and walks out.


	8. I'm Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her turn has come, and Y/N is the one needing to pick up the pieces when everything falls through the ceiling.

She doesn't want to visit the art gallery, doesn't want to face the mother of her (possibly old) friend. She doesn't think she has the right to work for her, not after how much she's upset Tom. She doesn't want to make him any angrier.

She's explained so to Nikki, who simply scoffed, waved her hand, and insisted she came anyway. Promised she'd talk to Tom and sort things out.

That was two weeks ago.

"It's great, Dad! Three days in the studio, four at the gallery. And the pay is like double what I was making before," Y/N sighs happily, thankful for Nikki and hoping Tom won't hate her forever.

Adam was due home a month ago, was meant to take Y/N and Olivia out for lunch. Yet here they are, four weeks later and he's still in Portugal.

"When are you coming home?" Y/N finally asks through a sigh, eyes drooping as the late evening begins to roll in, the sky dark and the moon shining. She looks out at the city lights, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and t-shirt, fluffy socks keeping her toes snug.

Adam sighs from the other end, brows knitting slightly and he pinches the bridge of his nose. Y/N knows that look all too well, knows what it means. He's silently thinking of how to let her down easy, how to tell her he won't be back just yet. How he's so close to finishing this book.

She's heard it all before.

Y/N sighs and shakes her head. "You know what, don't worry. You're home when you're home, and that's all that matters," she shrugs her shoulders, trying to roll off the hurt that consumes her in waves.

Tapping on the door catches her ears and she lets out another sigh. "I gotta go, dad, pizza's here," she waves a goodbye, Adam blowing a kiss through the FaceTime call and ending it.

She places her phone to the coffee table and grabs her purse, wandering toward the door and flicking on the kitchen light on her way. Wrapping her hand around the cool metal of the door handle, she swings it open with a small smile.

Darrel, the pizza man, stands at the door with a grin, grey hair wisped back beneath the pizza baseball cap. "Evening, Y/N," he greets her, tugging her pizza out of the thick travel bag he always has and pulling the two-litre bottle of Coke out from under his arm.

Y/N greets him back and pulls out a twenty, exchanging the money for the food and they bid one another a good evening as Y/N closes the door. She places the pizza box and Coke on the kitchen counter, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and placing it beside the bottle.

She flips open the box, that sweet smell of chicken supreme filling her senses and she lets out a giddy sigh. Before her fingers can even touch the heavenly meal, an odd scratching on her front door catches her attention.

She pauses her movements, head turning and brows furrowing as the consistent scratching continues, a soft whine shortly following. Y/N shuts the lid on her pizza and wanders to the door, swinging it open in curiosity and confusion.

Another whine sounds through her ears when she finally sees who, or rather  _what_  is at her door. A gorgeous grey staffy stares up at her, eyes wide and jaw slightly slack. Y/N looks past the dog, not seeing an owner, and she drops to her knees, staring at the dog with squinted eyes.

The staff leans its paw on her knee, tapping it as they struggle to keep their stability and Y/N wearily tilts her head at the dog, catching sight of the brown, leather collar and a small silver plaque that hangs from it.

Y/N pinches it between her thumb and forefinger, twisting it so she can see either the owners number or a name. She gets the latter. "Tessa," she breathes, the dog huffing at the mention of her name from the stranger's lips. Y/N scratches the back of Tessa's head, reaching behind her ears and the dog nuzzles her nose into Y/N's hand.

Too caught up in petting her new acquaintance, Y/N fails to notice the pair of stumbling men that approach her flat. That's until a pair of battered Oxford shoes catch her line of sight as a drop of blood splatters against them.

Slowly, Y/N lifts her eyes from the staff, following the nearly invisible seams of the man's trousers until she notices the crimson red bloodstains on his once-white shirt. Her eyes continue their relentless search up his torso, shirt drowned in the ruby substance, fabric torn and shredded.

Taking a deep breath, she forces herself to look up those last few inches, clenching her jaw and closing her eyes for a moment.  _Is this it?_  Martin's scumbags coming back for her? Her eyes snap open and jaw falls slack, pupils dilating as she rushes to her feet, breath caught in her throat as she struggles to find the words she desperately wants to scream.

He's almost unrecognisable; eyes black and swollen, lip busted and bloody. His hair is somehow handsomely devilish, cheeks slashed and a deep gash sat in his forehead. Yet, he still has that stupid proud smirk on his lips. She'd know it was him even if his blond best friend wasn't his crutch.

"Hello, love," he grunts out, clasping his bleeding side as Harrison struggles to keep him from clambering to the floor. Shakily, Y/N raises to her feet, eyes frantic as she looks between the two Mobsters and back down at the dog.

"Ahem," Harrison clears his throat, brows raised a little as Y/N finally looks back at him with a slack jaw. "I know this is a little random and all, but we really need to get inside," he hints, his words seemingly snapping her back to reality and she nods her head.

She takes a step back, leaning against the door and keeping it in place against the wall, giving Harrison enough room to drag Tom inside, Tessa hot on their trail. Y/N eyes the hallway frantically, quickly closing the door and sliding the chain lock across it.

Haz drags Tom to the kitchen, propping him on a stool and rummaging through Y/N's cupboards and draws in search of alcohol and a clean cloth. Tom sits slouched, left hand gripping the granite countertop and right hand cupping his gashed side.

"Y/N, where's your first aid kit?" Harrison asks, coming short on anything he needs apart from the bottle of whiskey beside the oven. She stutters slightly and swallows back the lump in her throat, consumed by the sickly pale skin of the Mobster before her.

"The uh, my- my bathroom," she stutters out, scratching at her forehead as Harrison rushes off down the hall, leaving her and the bloody King in the kitchen.

Tom can't look at her, not after what he's said, how he spat his venomous words right at her pretty little face. He knows he fucked up, knows she's nothing but an angel, and he begged Harrison to take him anywhere but to her.

It isn't that he doesn't want her to see him like this. No. For some reason, Tom feels entirely comfortable with being vulnerable in the presence of the young girl. He doesn't want to be near her because he supposes she hates him after what he said.

_Oh, how wrong he is._

"What the hell happened to you?" Her voice is a soft whisper, tone unsteady as she slowly inhaled a much-needed breath, though it still feels like her lungs are crushed tightly in an angry fist.

He keeps his eyes on the ground, refusing to look at her and see that pain in her eyes. The pain he's caused. But when Y/N gently rests the palm of her hand on his bloody cheek, his heartbeat quickens and breathing stills.

She doesn't care that his blood will be on her hands or her shirt, she just needs to feel him, needs him to know that she's still here. That she'll always be here, even if he doesn't want her to.

The simple touch is an act of reassurance they both know they needed, and when Tom gently holds her wrist in his shaking hand, giving it a soft squeeze and finally looking up at her with a quivering bottom lip, they both know they need  _each other._

More than they'd currently care to admit.

They stare at each other for just a little while longer, too scared to look away. Y/N can see the fear and hurt in Tom's eyes, the wild look in his once soft brown orbs now replaced with sheer terror and worry. Tom can see the sadness and crumbling hope in her eyes. They were once so bright hand full of life, but now they're glossed over with fresh tears that sit on her waterline, slowly making their way over the edge and racing down her flushed cheeks.

The pizza box is long forgotten when Harrison wanders back down the hall, first aid kit in hand and his navy blue suit jacket hanging over his arm. He stops before he rounds the corner when he notices painted fingernails scratching at the side of his best mates head.

He peers around the corner of the wall, watching the way Tom gently nuzzles his face into Y/N's hand as she softly scratches the tips of her fingers against his scalp, becoming lost on his mess of dark curls above his ears.

Harrison wonders for a moment: wonders what he's actually witnessing... if he's even witnessing it at all. Thomas Holland is far from affectionate with women. He isn't nasty, but he's closed off. He loves his mother more than anything, but never another woman.  _Never_.

And then out of nowhere, she shows up, flips his world upside down and rekindles his heart while doing so. It's as though a switch is flicked within Tom whenever Y/N is mentioned or around. Harrison can't remember the last time he's seen Tom so affectionate with a  _'friend'_  if that's what they're still calling themselves.

Harrison calls out Y/N's name before rounding the corner, giving the pair enough time to slowly pull away without needing to somehow explain their closeness to him. Haz does, however, notice the small sigh that slips past Tom's lips as Y/N removes her hand and grabs the first aid box.

"Are either one of you gonna tell me what the fuck is going on?" she asks, opening the small green box and grabbing the little pack of cotton balls, unscrewing the whiskey bottle. Tom and Haz (not so) discreetly eye one another, their seemingly silent bit of communication not going unnoticed by Y/N, who pours a little whiskey on the cotton ball.

"Anyone?" she asks again, pressing the cotton to Tom's skin and he pulls back a little, wincing at the sharp pain that seethes through his face. Y/N quirks a brow as if to say:  _'yeah, well it's your fault',_  and gently dabs at the split skin. Her hand finds its way to the back of Tom's head, keeping him in place from pulling back and her thumb gently rubs at his scalp in a somewhat soothing manner.

Harrison purses his lips and crosses his muscular arms over his chest, biceps bulging in his tight shirt and while any other woman would be drooling at the sight, Y/N's too busy frantically trying to patch up the King. "Business is all," Haz shrugs, trying to keep her out of whatever mess they've gotten themselves into.

"A deal went wrong," Tom croaks out, still clutching his side but no longer pulling away from the girl trying to help. Harrison's eyes widen slightly at his words, lips in a hard line and brows slightly furrowed.

_What?_

"There was a mole, set us up. We barely got out in time," he sighs, staring up at the woman who ever so slightly towers over him. She's stopped cleaning his cuts now and is staring down into those gorgeous brown orbs of his. She's completely captivated, just wants to keep him safe and protected from the dangers of his life.

Harrison stands there confused and stunned. Tom's never even told his mother about the Mob, always refuses to tell her whenever something is happening. He doesn't want to worry her, doesn't want her trying to get involved. Tom never tells his mother about deals going wrong, so why is he telling Y/N?

"I'm sorry we just showed up, love. And I'm sorry for-" he's cut off when she shakes her head and waves her hand at him, silently telling him to shut up talking and that she's already forgiven him. Tom purses his lips and nods, shifting in his seat and groaning when the change in position puts more pressure on his side.

Y/N pulls away with wide eyes that hold enough worry to put all of the mother's of London to shame. "I... I can clean your face but I'm not too sure about that," she gulps, shaking finger pointing to the bloody shirt and stab wound beneath it. Tom's surely bleeding all over the floor, but Y/N can't bring herself to care.

Another wince from Tom's lips evokes a small whine and bark from the grey staffy that lays on Y/N's sofa, head perking up and ears sprung high at the sound of her owner's grunts of discomfort. Y/N watches the dog whine again, refusing to lie back down and Harrison sighs.

"She's hungry. Y/N, you need to go to the shop and get her some food or something," he instructs, searching through his pockets and fishing out his wallet. She places the cotton balls back on the side, hands falling to her legs and she nervously picks at her jogging bottoms.

As Harrison pulls out some money, Tom takes a risk and stretches his hand as far as he can, fingers barely grazing over hers, but she feels it, nonetheless. Y/N turns to him and gulps, their fingers quickly intertwining and he squeezes her hand the best he can, thumb brushing over her knuckles and Y/N nods, knows what he's trying to say.

"Here's twenty quid. Get her some food and a toy. Also, you need bandages, so pick some of those up, too." Harrison hands her the money and she lets go of her grasp on Tom, his hand falling back into his lap. She takes the money and shoves it into the pocket of her joggers, taking a deep breath and nodding her head.

"Before you go, you do need to call Nikki. Just to warn her something serious happened and she can't trust anyone," Harrison mentions, her jaw falling slack and she frowns at him. "Me? Why do I have to do it?" she shrieks, anxiety quick to flood through her system and Tom grabs her hand again.

"Because there's a certain thing you have to say and neither I nor Haz can make the call. This is serious, Y/N. I trust you."

There they are, those three words she needed to hear. The words she deserved to hear. They made her worries cease from her mind and she nods her head, squeezing his hand and grabbing her phone.

"What is it? A name? A safe word?" she asks, dialling Nikki's number and waiting for further instructions before she makes the call. Harrison scratches the back of his head and stifles a laugh. She frowns. "It's more of a safe  _sentence_ ," he laughs a little, Tom shaking his head with a little grin.

Y/N squints at the Mobsters. "Oh, God. What is it?" she whines, shoulders dropping and she scrunches her face up, expecting the worst. Harrison grabs a pen and quickly scribbles something on the pizza box, twisting it around so Y/N can read what he's written.

She lets out a sigh and laughs through it, turning to Tom and raising a brow. "Seriously? You guys are so sad," she fake grimaces, though she secretly finds it extremely comical and quite smart with what their little safe code is.

"Just ease it into a conversation, she'll pick it up immediately," Tom assures her, hand back in hers and he gives it another gentle squeeze. She nods and takes a deep breath, calling the number and hitting the little loudspeaker button on the screen.

It rings for a few moments before Nikki picks up with her usual work greeting. "Hey, Nikki, it's Y/N. I'm just calling to let you know I won't be in tomorrow," —even though she's already got tomorrow off— "my uh... my dad's gone on a hunting trip with a few of his buddies and hasn't been home in a few days."

It's silent for three whole seconds before Nikki clears her throat. "Okay, honey. Say no more. Thank you for calling and letting me know. I'll drop by as soon as I can to look after the cat, okay? Speak to you soon." And the line falls dead.

The men let out a sigh and Y/N frowns. "Cat? I don't have a cat?" she puts her phone on the counter and turns to Harrison. He shakes his head, "I know, it's her way of saying she got the message," he informs her. Y/N nods and she steps away from them and to the door.

"I'll go grab the stuff for Tessa and the bandages. The pizza box is full and there's Coke on the counter. Help yourself and please, Tom, don't move," she near begs, shoving her feet into her shoes and opening the front door. She blows a kiss to the Mobster and runs outside with the door slamming shut behind her.

It's only then that she realises she blew a kiss to Tom, and with wide eyes, she realises he blew one back.

"What the fuck are you thinking? Telling her shit about the Mob?" Harrison snaps at his best mate the second Y/N is out of the door, not caring if she can still hear him through the thick walls. Tom grunts and shakes his head at him, unbuttoning his shirt and dropping it to the ground where it drowns in crimson blood.

"I trust her, Haz. You're the one that fucking brought us here when I specifically told you not to," Tom points a finger, lips in a thin line as Harrison sterilises a needle with the whiskey. Tom snatches the half-empty bottle from him, taking a long gulp while Haz grabs the stitching thread and loops it through the needle.

"You were moaning the other day that you didn't trust her, might I remind you." Harrison scoffs, crouching to his knees and taking the whiskey from him. He splashes a more than a generous amount on the wound, knows it'll piss Tom off, but he doesn't care.

Tom winces. "Well, I was wrong. She was only trying to help. Spoke to mum about it all," he huffs out, opening the box of pizza and grabbing a slice, knows Y/N won't mind, that she'd probably be angry if she got back and saw that he hadn't eaten anything at all.

Harrison shakes his head at his friend. "Don't do it. Not again. She, of all people, doesn't deserve it," he snaps, Tom staring at the floor and allowing the words of his best friend to settle in his head. Harrison's right, and Tom knows it. He can't put her through it, too.

———

An hour has passed since Y/N arrived home, a brown bag in her arms; full of pet food, toys, treats, and bandages. Harrison had cleared Tom up to the best of his ability, struggling with not having the best medical equipment, but he made do with what he had. He left not long after she got home, had to check on his family, make sure they were safe.

Before he left, he ushered Tom into the shower, told him to take his time and call out for Y/N if he needed help, which only caused her to blush profusely. Now, Y/N sits on the sofa, Tessa's head resting on her lap as she scratches behind the dog's ears. Her heart is still pounding in her chest, breathing staggering at how serious the situation must be.

She wonders what will happen now. To Tom, to Haz. She wonders if she'll be pulled into his world of blood and violence, or if he'll shut her out completely and never bother to talk to her again. But a part of her hopes for the former, and she doesn't know why. Maybe she's tired of her boring life. Maybe she just wants to be around Tom.

They haven't heard anything back from Nikki, but Harrison assures her she's okay and is no doubt rounding up her family, taking them to the safe house only the Hollands and Haz know about. And now, so does Y/N. She isn't sure if it's because they trust her enough to know, or that they don't consider her a threat.

"Love?" her eyes snap up to the hall and she shifts on the sofa, careful not to wake Tessa as she desperately tries to see through the small crack in her bedroom door. "Kinda need your help," he laughs softly, the melodic sound easing her nerves and racing heart.

Y/N carefully stands from the sofa, gently placing Tessa's head on a pillow, praying she won't wake her up. Wiping her clammy hands down the front of her jogging pants, she makes her way down the hall, slowly pushing her bedroom door open and peering her head inside. Tom is sitting on her bed, white towel wrapped around his waist and she swallows thickly at the sight.

His gorgeous sun-kissed skin glistens as droplets of water stream down his toned torso. She tries not to drool at the sight of his arms and abs, thighs subconsciously squeezing shut and she takes a deep breath to try and calm herself. She should not be getting this flushed over the King of the Mob sitting half naked on her bed, dripping wet.

_Or is she the one dripping wet?_

Tom holds up the small wrap of bandages with pursed lips and drooping eyes, hair a damp mess of curls as they cling to his forehead. Y/N takes a few steps closer and takes the bandages from his hand, unwrapping them and kneeling between his open legs. She looks up at him for a moment, noting the way he traps his bottom lip between his teeth.

The sight sends her into a frenzy as her hands begin to tremble. Tom notices the sudden change and hesitantly places a hand over hers, halting her actions and she finds herself staring back up at him again. "I'm sorry," he apologises softly, voice hoarse yet silky smooth and Y/N wonders how the hell it's was even possible.

She shakes her head and continues to unravel the bandages. "No, I told you, it's okay. I shouldn't have gotten involved, I'm sorry. I never meant to upset you," she mumbles back, gently pressing the end of the bandage to the centre of his toned stomach, cold fingertips touching the warm skin of his abs. The  _soft_ , warm skin.

Tom takes this time to stare at her for a moment, to finally get a good look at her. Her hair is a hot mess, tangled and a little dirty, but the volume of it only makes her look better. Her face is bare of makeup apart from a little mascara and the tiny bit of brow pencil she always has on.

Tom notices the little blemishes scattered over her face. One on her forehead, another on her chin. Her skin is a little bumpy, not smooth the like girls he usually hooks up with. He watches the way her plump lips part and eyes squint as she continues to wrap him, bottom lip caught between her teeth.

He notices again how they aren't perfectly straight, how one tooth sightly overlaps the other. They aren't a crystal white, more of a natural one; tinted and stained a little, and he probably wouldn't have noticed if he wasn't looking so closely.

"He has a brain tumour," he finds himself blurting out through a sigh. Her eyes widen and she sits back on her heels, bandaging finished. "My dad... he has a brain tumour," he repeats, fingers twiddling solemnly and Y/N's eyes pool over with tears.

She doesn't know the man, but she knows Tom. He's hurting and that hurts her. Sympathy pain, her mum used to say. "I'm so sorry," she whispers, not really knowing how to comfort him. She knows Tom's relationship with his father fell through the roof years ago, so she's unsure how to go about this.

Tom shakes his head and sniffles back a few tears. He tries to let out a laugh, but it comes out as a choked sob. Y/N raises to her knees and pulls him into her, arms around his neck as he sobs into her shoulder. Tom eventually wraps his strong arms around her middle, pulling her closer and giving her body a gentle squeeze.

Y/N runs her fingers through his hair, softly cooing him as she massages his scalp. They stay like that for a little while, in each other's arms. Tom finds himself desperate for her touch, hoping she'll let go. He isn't sure if it's because he craves the intimacy, or if he's too embarrassed to face her after his outburst.

Either way, his heart aches when she pulls away and cups his face in her cold palms, smiling weakly at him as her bottom lip quivers. His tears are dry now, eyes a little puffy and cheeks gently flushed pink. "Stay here, I'm gonna go get you some clothes and a beer," she laughs softly, heart swelling at the sight of his smile and he nods.

The second she walks out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, a soft knock on her door catches her attention. She wastes no time racing to it, hoping to see either Harrison or Nikki standing on the other side. But when she opens it, her hopeful smile drops and stomach churns.

"Lewis? What are you doing here?" she asks, voice a little harsher than intended as she looks behind him, cautious of the possible lurkers in the hall. He frowns. "What, I'm not allowed to drop by and see my girlfriend?" he scoffs, pushing past her and into the kitchen. She sighs and closes the door.

"You know, now's not really a good time," Tom hears Y/N huff from the kitchen. He stands from her bed, tightening the towel around his waist and he slowly pads closer to the door, hoping to hear better what's going on.

"Haven't seen you all week, though," Lewis argues back, flipping open the pizza box and grinning when he sees three slices left. He grabs one and takes a bite, then looks back at the box and back at his girlfriend. "I thought you were getting a little chubby, this explains it," he laughs, pointing to the half-empty pizza box that she hasn't even had a slice of.

Tom hears his words from behind the door and raises his brows.  _How dare he._ Y/N sighs and scoffs out a sardonic laugh, snatching the slice of pizza from his mouth and slapping it against the box. "Get out," she spits, hands folded over her chest.

Lewis raises a brow. "Excuse me?" he scoffs, mimicking her stance and she growls at him. "You heard me, get out! I'm sick of you and the way you treat me, Lewis. It's over, okay! You only show up when you wanna fuck and I'm done with it. Get. Out."

She isn't sure where the new found confidence has come from, but she loves it. She loves finally having the voice to stand up for herself, to tell him to fuck off. "You know better than to talk to me like that, baby," he raises his brows, voice alarmingly calm and she hesitantly takes a step back, her confidence diminishing and fear quickly settling in.

"Lewis, I suggest you leave, right now," she swallows thickly, back hitting the counter and she braces herself as he takes a step closer. "Or what? You're gonna call your little friend from the Mob?" he teases sardonically, eyes clouded over with darkness and Tom steps out from behind the door, slowly making his way down the hall.

"Well good luck with that, 'cause I hear the King is  _dead_ ," Lewis grins, Y/N's brows furrowing until Tom steps out from the darkness and clears his throat. "You heard wrong, mate. Now get the fuck out," Tom spits, catching his attention and he spins around.

Lewis takes in his bloody and beaten appearance, letting out a comical laugh and shaking his head. "You don't look too threatening when you're dressed as a fucking mummy," he quips. Tom watches Y/N slip away and dig through his blazer pocket that's thrown over the stool.

She retrieves his gun and pulls back the safety, aiming it at Lewis' head, hands as steady as a surgeon as she clears her throat. "What about me?" she asks, watching him turn around and stare right down the barrel of the gun. She cocks a brow. "Am I threatening?" she quips, head tilted and Lewis holds his hands up.

A small smile tugs on his lips. "You don't have the guts, baby," he teases, knows she'll never pull the trigger and she shrugs her shoulders, nodding her head. "You're right, I don't," she admits with a sigh, giving Tom just enough time to pull out a second gun from behind his back and aim it at the back of Lewis' head.

"But he does," she nods to Tom, the both of them having Lewis locked in with two guns pointing to his head. "Get the fuck out," Tom repeats, clicking the gun and staring right into his eyes. Lewis swallows back the lump in his throat and slowly takes a step back, hands still up in surrender but that stupid smirk is long gone.

Just as he approaches the door, he shakes his head at the two holding him at gunpoint. "You're gonna regret this," he speaks, voice wavering and Y/N shakes her head with a scoff. "The only thing I'm gonna regret is not letting him put a bullet in your head." And with that, he leaves, racing down the hall.

Y/N kicks the door shut and drops the gun to the floor, shaking off her hands as if she's been holding a disease the entire time. Tom groans and makes his way closer to her, placing his gun on the counter and pulling her into his arms.

"He knows I'm alive and that you're hiding me. I give it three hours before he tells someone that's after me," he sighs, pulling away and looking down at her. She purses her lips with wide eyes. "What are we meant to do?" she asks, slightly panicked and no longer wanting to be in this dangerous world he's in.

"We run."

 


	9. Untold Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While on the run, the only thing they can think about is how they’re gonna keep their hands off each other.

She taps her bruised knuckles on the front door, hand shaking as she lowers it to her side and waits for it to open. She's thought of at least three different ways she could lie about her situation while on the drive over, but that doesn't make it any easier. She loves her Mother, has a wonderful relationship with her, and the last thing she wants to do, is to lie.

The front door swings open, revealing a grinning Rachel at the sight of her daughter and her unexpected visit. "Lou, darling, what are you doing here?" she greets, that old nickname music to Y/N's ears, but she fears her Mother will never call her it again.

Ever since she was a child, her great grandmother, Norah, called her LouLaBelle, never her name. LouLaBelle became her childhood name, and Lou became a nickname. When Norah died when Y/N was ten, the nicknames carried on and stuck with her.

Y/N smiles through pursed lips and shrugs her shoulders, eyes twitching as the lies begin to crawl up her throat. "Think we should have a cuppa and sit down," she swallows, smile fading and Rachel glances at her daughter in worry.

She nods her head and opens the door open a little more, allowing her inside before she closes and locks it again. Y/N follows her Mother through the hall and into the kitchen, goosebumps riddling her skin as the memories of that night quickly flood her mind.

"Last time you told me we needed tea, you thought you were pregnant," Rachel notes from the kettle in a hasty tone, worried that maybe she's having the same scare. She hopes not, she's too young to be a Grandmother, and she doesn't know what she'll do if Lewis is the Father.

Y/N stifles a laugh. "No, Mum. I'm not pregnant," she mumbles out, toying with her fingers as Rachel pours their tea and makes her way over to the table Y/N is sitting at. She places them on the white coasters and takes a seat, leg folding over the other.

"I don't want to lie to you... I  _can't_ lie to you," Y/N sighs, brows furrowed and eyes watering. Rachel frowns, reaching over the table to grab her hands and give them an encouraging squeeze. "You can tell me anything, Lou, you know that." There she goes, using that nickname again.

"Something's happened," she softly begins, hands trembling with worry and Rachel tilts her head. "And I have to disappear for a little while," she holds back the tears, the cogs in her Mother's brain ticking away and she pulls back to sit in her seat.

"I... I can't tell you  _what_ happened, because the more you know, the more danger you'll be in," she chokes out, Rachel's eyes widening and she stands abruptly from her chair. "Danger?  _Excuse me?_  Y/N Wyatts what the  _fuck_ is going on?" she demands an answer.

Y/N only lets out a choked sob and shakes her head. "People are going to come after me, so I have to leave for a little while," she cries, words slightly muffled, but Rachel hears them. "After you? What the fu-" she's cut off by her daughter's sob. "Harrison is gonna stay with you and Livvy for a little while," she continues, sniffling back the tears.

Rachel stills. "Harrison? As in Harrison  _Osterfield_?" she yelps, eyes stern and lips in a firm line. Y/N nods, standing from her seat and grabbing her Mum's hands in her own. "I know you're freaking out and I am too, but Mum... I  _need_ to go," she pleads.

The Mother and daughter cry in each other's arms for what feels like years, neither one of them wanting to say goodbye. And when Rachel learns that Tom Holland will be taking Y/N away, she finds it even harder to let go. "That heart of yours is gonna get you killed one day, Y/N," Rachel sobs. She cups her daughter's cheeks in her palms and Y/N nods with a cry.

"He's gonna keep me safe, Mum. Tom and Haz will get in contact with each other every now and then, but you have to listen to him. You can't tell anyone what's going on. Not Liv, not Dad. Tell them I'm travelling for my job," she squeezes her Mum's hand.

Ten minutes later, with swollen cheeks and sore eyes, Y/N leaves her childhood home and drags herself back to the car that waits at the top of her drive. The door opens as she approaches it, a slender hand poking out and helping her into the black SUV.

She closes the door and takes a seat, tears silently spilling down her rosy cheeks. "They're gonna be okay, love," Tom tries to comfort, raising an arm around her shoulder and pulling her into his chest.

She curls into his side as she sobs, Tom resting his cheek on the top of her head, hand soothingly rubbing up and down the side of her arm. A blanket is laid over their laps, Y/N's right arm flung over his waist. When Tom stops his soothing motions, her left hand reaches over to her arm and tugs on his fingers, intertwining them as she does so.

The two remain like so in complete silence as Dave drives them through the dreary night, a small strip of land to be their location as in two hours, they'll be in a private jet, flying out to one of the Holland's most secret safe houses.

———

The night has grown darker, colder. Y/N has fallen asleep, curled into Tom's warm side, arm over his waist but even in her sleep, cautious not to bump his wounds. Their fingers stayed intertwined through the journey, though their grip on one another has loosened over time.

"Miss Coleman is waiting for you in Amsterdam, Mr Holland," Dave informs Tom, killing the engine as the car stares directly at the Mobsters private jet. Tom takes a deep breath and shifts in his seat, pressing a kiss to the top of Y/N's head before he slightly turns to her.

"Y/N, darling, you need to wake up, love," he softly shakes her, watching those pretty eyes slowly flutter open and her brows gently scrunch together. She pulls away from him, stretching her arms and sides out and rubbing at the corners of her eyes.

"Where are we?" she croaks. Her eyes squint as she adjusts to the little light shining from the roof of the car. Tom smiles sleepily at her. "Secret airport," he tries to lighten the mood, only earning a half-smile from the girl and he purses his lips.

"A friend is meeting us when we get there. She'll take us to the safe house where we'll stay until we get a grip on the situation," he explains briefly, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear and she sighs, turning to look at him.

"How long?" she whispers. Her ottom lip quivers and she fears they'll be gone for months. She doesn't want to spend her life hiding, she just wants to be at home, watching a stupid movie and cuddling up on the sofa. With who, she doesn't know, but part of her wishes it's with Tom.

"Just a few days, a week max. When we get back to London, you're going to need to stay at the house with me for a while. I just need to make sure no one comes after you. Just taking precaution."

Y/N nods her head with a little sigh, relieved they'll only be gone for a week at the most. She knows they won't be able to leave the safe house, will be stuck inside together. She doesn't mind being stuck with Tom, but she doesn't know who else will be there or what they'll actually do.

The pair of them climb out of the SUV, Tom rounding the back and opening the boot, pulling out Y/N's full duffel bag and slamming it shut again. He returns to her side, bag in hand and she frowns at him.

"Where's yours?" she asks, confused as to where his luggage is. Tom stifles a laugh. "Couldn't exactly get back to the house and pack, could I?" he jokes half-heartedly, reminding the girl of why they're on the run in the first place.

With a hand on the small of her back, Tom leads her to the protruding steps to the plane, stopping her at the bottom and slinging her duffel bag over his shoulder. A tall, slender man stands before them, black pilot hat resting on his head, grey hair swooped underneath and he nods curtly at Tom.

"Mr Holland, Miss Coleman awaits at your destination," his rugged voice huffs, earning a subtle nod from Tom and a little frown from Y/N.  _Who's Miss Coleman?_  Thomas turns to the girl with a comforting smile before he digs through the pocket of his sweatpants and retrieves his personal phone.

He twists it between his fingers for a brief moment, the lights from the plane shining on his screen before he pelts it to the ground with force. Y/N jumps back with a small squeal, eyes wide as the shards of metal, glass, and plastic snap and break as it hits the ground.

Tom turns to Y/N, stifling a laugh at how she stares at him as though he's grown another head. He holds his hand out expectantly. "I need your phone, love," he raises a brow, hint of a smirk on his lips and Y/N can't understand how he's joking at a time like this. She supposes it's to try and calm her nerves.

"Yeah, right! You're not smashing my phone, I can't afford to just get another one," she quips shortly, tone stern and Tom shakes his head with a gentle smile. "Not gonna smash your phone, darling. But you can't take it with you, we'll be tracked, love," he reminds her, Y/N's plump lips forming into a gentle 'o' shape.

Reluctantly, she digs through her pockets and pulls out her phone, handing it to the sleepy Mobster before her and he starts to hand it over to the tall man in the hat. "Ship it to Singapore," Tom instructs, her eyes widening and she lunges for it, but Tom holds it higher than she can reach.

"That's worse than smashing it!" she shrieks, huffing at the man and Tom shakes his head. With his spare hand, he takes hers in his, offering a gentle squeeze of reassurance. "Someone will travel out to Singapore with your name. She'll take the phone when she travels so we can get to the safe house and back here in a few days without anyone knowing," he whispers, soothing tone instantly calming her.

She nods as she takes a deep breath, shoulders slumping slightly and Tom squeezes her hand again. He hands the phone over, keeping his and Y/N's fingers intertwined as he leads her up the steps to the jet.

With her bottom lip caught between her teeth, she eyes the cosy plane. Cream coloured seats are scattered against the walls, a few little tables between them and a minibar at the back, toilet a little further away. She turns back and looks up at Tom, doe-eyes and weary. He offers a hand in front of them, telling her to choose a seat as he releases her hand.

While she seats herself on a seat with a table in front of it, Tom places her bag on one of the others, closing the door of the jet, the noise making the young woman jump. "S'alright, love," he reassures her, something he seems to be doing a hell of a lot tonight.

He takes a seat opposite her, hands clasped as his forearms lean on the table and he stares right at her. He can tell she's in a state of distress, by the constant frown on her brows and how she nibbles on the corner of her lower lip. She taps her foot rapidly, knee bouncing as her eyes frantically search the jet.

Thomas reaches over the table and takes her trembling hand in his, the pad of his thumb soothingly rubbing over the back of her hand. She finally looks at him, taking a deep breath and resisting the urge to scream. She knows she's safe with Tom, even if they've barely known each other a month. But she's still scared. So,  _so_ scared.

"I didn't know you had a tattoo," she whispers out, Tom's brows furrowing until he realises what she's seen when he was half-naked on her bed just a few hours ago. He smiles a little. "Got it the day I became  _King_ ," he smiles at the memory, of simpler times, when his naivety told him he'll run the Mob just fine. That he won't make the same mistakes his Father did.

"Dad has the same one, Mum got one too when they took it over," he explains, spare hand holding the patch of inked skin just below the inside of his elbow. "Is it a rule or something?" Y/N asks, head tilting a little and her curiosity gets the better of her. Tom doesn't mind, though; knows it's taking her mind off of what's going on.

He nods his head. "Kind of. More of a tradition, when you become Kings and Queens of the Mob, you get branded," he shrugs, the matching tattoos on his parent's shoulder's a reminder of the love they once shared... the  _life_  they once shared.

"And what about your  _Queen_?" she asks, eyes fluttering ever so innocently and it brings Tom back to the night he saw the couple stumbling out of an off-licence, both doe-eyed and innocently in love. He wonders what it'd be like to be in love with her, what her love would feel like.

Would it be as soft as her hair? As strong as her mind? As sweet as her lips? He doesn't know, but he wishes he does.

"Don't need a Queen, when I've got you, love," he teases with a grin, laughter bubbling up through her throat as she rolls her head back. Tom watches with a smile, heart stammering in his chest, the feeling so foreign yet welcoming.

"I'm proud of you," he blurts out, her laughter cut short and she frowns at him with flushed cheeks, can feel her body burning under his gaze. "For leaving that wanker," he adds, his hazel eyes soft and she purses her lips. "I should've done it a long time ago," she sighs, shaking her head and looking down at her lap.

Tom frowns at her, not wanting her mood to worsen, but his curiosity is stronger than that worry. In his head, the more he knows, the better he can be of comfort. "Why didn't you?" he asks, hands cold now that she holds her own in her lap and leaves his empty.

They've been so busy talking that they haven't noticed they'd taken off, haven't noticed the turbulence until Y/N looks out the window and sees the city lights grow smaller beneath them. She sinks back in her seat, eyes closing for a moment and she tries to calm herself. She's never been on a plane before.

"Believe it or not, I loved him. He was the best boyfriend I'd ever had, which is sad, when you think about it, considering he was a cheating dick," she scoffs, shaking her head at her own naivety. Tom purses his lips at her confession, head slowly nodding at her words as he waits for her to continue.

"My first boyfriend was when I was sixteen. His name was Charlie, and I thought I loved him. But he was manipulative, made me feel like shit, and then I found out he cheated on me, with my cousin," she pauses, taking in Tom's expected gauged reaction and she nods.

"Then, when I was eighteen, I started seeing a guy called Toby. I was falling so hard from him, it was insane. My drunk ass sucked his dick at a party and then we started seeing each other. Turns out he used me for sex and chose another girl over me," she swallows back a cry, could never really get over what he did.

"And then, there's Lewis," she scoffs, willing back the tears, but it's just no use. She sniffles back what she can, but Tom sees right through it, knows she's about to break down completely.

"We met at a party when I was nineteen and he came home with me. The next morning, I woke up to him laying in bed watching TV. He told me he was taking me out for breakfast so we could get to know each other.

"I was so shocked, you know? He seemed so genuine and so excited to take me out, so I agreed. After that, he just stuck around. He was always showing up at my place and watching movies with me and all that shit. I wasn't used to feeling important to someone, and I trusted him and fell for him.

"I was so in love, I was blind, I didn't see all the warning signs. How he never took me to his friend's parties, never even introduced me to them. He never wanted to take me out on dates, or anything, Hell, we were together for three years and I never even met his parents.

And then you showed up, and everything changed. I don't fucking know how, but the second I met you, it all changed. I didn't feel loved and wanted by him. I started to notice how little he cared about me and my family, that he only wanted me for sex. He never loved me, Tommy. No one has ever loved me and I just want to be loved."

By now, she's a sobbing mess, face crimson as she chokes on her own cries. Her heart is breaking at how unloved she feels, how  _unwanted_  she feels. Tom can't stand the sight of her crumbling before him, hates the way she thinks so little of herself.

He jumps to his feet and scoots her over, sitting by her and pulling her into his chest. Y/N sobs into his side, clutching his soft jumper as her tears dampen the fabric. "Shh," he coos softly, hand in her hair as he gently scratches at her scalp. His other hand rests on her thigh, holding it through her jogging bottoms and she trembles.

"What's wrong with me, Tommy? Why aren't I good enough for anyone?" she begs for a reason, for the feature she needs to change. She knows she isn't as pretty as other girls she knows, doesn't have much self-confidence, but oh, is she wrong. She holds such a simplistic beauty, it will have your head spinning, just like it has Tom's.

His heart shatters that little bit more at the sound of her broken words, the way she desperately cries into him, how she craves to be loved despite her flaws. "There is nothing wrong with you, darling. You're bloody gorgeous, and smart, and kind. Y/N, you deserve someone that is going to love every single inch of you and prove so every fucking day," he insists, words stern as he bites back his own cry.

"You don't have to say that, I know you don't mean it," she sobs harder, words a jumbled mess but Tom understands every syllable she utters. "I do mean it. It's the truest thing I've ever said," he whispers gently, watching her pull away with puffy eyes. She's still stuck into his side, cheek pressed against his shoulder as her big doe-eyes stare into his.

Tom's breath catches in his throat at the sight of her innocence and those swollen, pink lips. His own part when she sinks her teeth on her bottom lip, sucking it into her warm mouth before releasing it. Before either of them knows it, they're both leaning in, breaths mixing as they fly across the city of London.

Neither of them knows what to do, like they're stuck, frozen in time as they mentally debate what to do next. "I really want to kiss you, love," Tom admits, eyes zoned in on those gorgeous, plump lips. Y/N gently bites into it, a familiar aching between her legs and her sobs and cries are long forgotten.

She holds her chin higher, lashes fluttering with every little blink. Tom can't hold it back anymore, a small, barely audible whimper slips passed his lips, which only increases the pooling between Y/N's legs.

She can't help but overthink the entire situation. What will happen if she does kiss him again? Will they still be friends? Will they be more? Or will she just be another one of  _those_ girls.

Y/N doesn't know, and a part of her doesn't care. The darker part of her that craves him, doesn't care. The realisation of that alone is all she needs to know what step to take.

Instead of going forward, she takes a step back and purses her lips, letting out a shaky breath and she prays he won't be angry at her. "I don't wanna be just one of your girls, Tommy," she breathes, eyes downcast as though she doesn't have the right to look him in the eye.

His heart leaps at the nickname, but brows frown at her words. Does she really think she means that little to him? Who is he kidding, of course, she does. Thanks to the last asshole boyfriends, her self confidence is little to nonexistent, something Tom is eager to change.

Quickly, Tom cups the side of her face with his palm, thumb soothing over the puffy skin beneath her eyes and she nuzzles into his touch. She holds his wrist in her hand, kissing the bottom of his palm and gazing back up at him.

"You'd never be just one of those girls, love," he whispers softly, fighting back the urge to pepper her beautiful face with soft, loving kisses.

Tom doesn't know what's gotten into him. Why the fuck is the King of the Mob pining over one simple girl? Why is he so infatuated with her? The last time he felt something like this, it all went to shit. He isn't about to make the same mistakes.

"That's what they've always told me, and look what happened," she whispers back, voice hoarse from the crying. He hears the crack in her tone and sees the way her bottom lip trembles. He hates seeing her in such a pained state.

"I'm not them, am I, love?" he desperately tries to convince her he cares. She knows he does, on some level, in a friendly way, but Thomas is hooked, more ways than one, and secretly, so is she.

"I want to, so badly, Tommy. But I'm scared," she begins to explain, shuffling a little closer to him and keeping his warm hand against her flushed cheek. "I've never... never felt like this before. It's like I'm on cloud nine when I'm with you," she breathes.

Tom nods his head softly, the movement barely noticeable so he hums along as well, her confession warming his heart. "And I know that you don't feel the same,  _why the hell would you._.. but I can't kiss you, because if I do, I won't want to stop."

Her breathing is breaking into an irregular pattern, his own caught in his throat as they bask in the silence after her words. Tom licks his lips and shakes his head, both hands holding her face as he dips down to see her better.

"No one's telling you to stop, baby," he breathes against her lips, thumbs still stroking the delicate skin beneath her eyes. Y/N shudders at his touch, body igniting in flames and she burns. Burns like the sun.

She stares at his lips for a moment longer, the internal battle almost too much to overcome. She shakes her head to rid the thoughts, shifting just that extra inch closer and she closes her eyes with one final thought.

_Fuck it._


	10. Touch Me Like You Mean It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When they finally reach their safe house, both Tom and Y/N find it increasingly difficult to keep their hands to themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Swearing, smut; kissing, teasing, oral (female receiving), foreplay, dirty talk.

_Fuck it._

A sudden jolt causes her to miss his lips, the small jet hoisting her forward and she slips into his lap with a gasp. Tom grunts and holds her to his side, eyes tired as he lets out a sigh. Y/N lets out a shaky breath and relaxes into his side, the almost kiss still lingering on their minds and she hesitantly wraps an arm around his waist.

They knew there would be a little turbulence, but it's just their luck that it happens at one of their most intimate moments. The sexual tension has quickly diminished as they hold each other through the rest of the ride, occasional messages sounding through the speakers from the pilot, but apart from that, they remain silent.

When they finally arrive at their temporary secret destination, they're escorted out of the jet and down the steps, the warm air of the night a new change from the bitter cold of London. As the pair come to the last of the steps, Y/N finally takes in her surroundings.

It's pitch black, in the middle of what seems a field, the gravel beneath them clearly a makeshift runway. A slick black limousine sits parked horizontal to the side of the plane, dimmed windows making it impossible for Y/N to see through them.

The moment her feet touch the ground, the driver's door of the limousine slowly opens. A man, much like the one that sent Y/N and Tom away, steps outside and adjusts his black tux, gently closing the door before he takes long strides to the opposite end of the vehicle.

Subconsciously, Y/N gravitates closer to Tom, dainty fingers pinching at his calloused ones and he clasps her clammy hand in his. With a tilted head and a curious frown, she watches as the chauffeur opens the door, her eyes squinting as she tries to get a better look.

A dark, slender leg comes into view, shiny black heels (that no doubt cost more than Y/N's rent) click against the ground and Y/N waits impatiently for the rest to come. And just as quickly as it does, she wishes it hadn't.

The woman walks out with such confidence, it makes Y/N shudder. She isn't sure if it's the way her toned legs look as they bring her closer, or maybe the sheer elegance her entire essence holds.

Either way, Y/N is a gaping mess, and she wonders how anyone can be this beautiful.

"Hello again, love," Tom greets the familiar friend with a grin, his hold on Y/N's hand long forgotten as he pulls the other woman into a warm embrace, not even slightly bothered by the way she towers over him with those heels and goddamn legs.

Y/N watches the two interact for a moment, notices the way Tom's touch lingers a little longer than it should have and Y/N suddenly finds herself struggling to breathe. She's fucking gorgeous. Hair in wild curls that somehow resemble a halo, but she knows by that glint in her eyes, she's no way close to a white-winged blessing.

"You should learn to stay out of trouble, Holland," the slick American accent riles something inside the young girl and she swallows back the lump in her throat, watching the way the sparkling navy dress waves in the wind around the goddesses thighs. Y/N suddenly feels extremely underdressed in her sweatpants and pyjama top, compared to the literal goddess standing before her.

"Nice to see you, too, darling," Tom greets with a seemingly tired grin. Y/N purses her lips at the familiar nickname, notes the way she doesn't find it so sweet to hear it when it's directed to someone else.  _Someone better._

She ducks her head a little, tendrils of hair (that Tom had desperately tried to tame) hanging over her face, and she only hopes it hides the disappointment she's surely beaming.

Y/N shuffles her feet as the two old friends rejoice in a short embrace, smiles wide as they pull away and  _Miss Coleman_  subtly eyes the girl through a squint - something Tom is quick to witness and shake his head at with a little smile to ease her nerves, and assure her she's anything but harm.

"Here are the keys," the curly-haired woman speaks, retrieving a single, golden key from her sequined purse. Tom holds his hand out and she drops the shiny object in his palm, flicking his fingers to which he laughs through a hiss.

"And one more thing," she raises a finger, turning her head back to the limousine, giving Tom the chance to pull Y/N back into his side.

She looks up at him for a moment, breath caught in her throat when his cold hand reaches for hers, their fingers tingling against the other's touch before they're intertwined with a gentle squeeze. Tom gazes down at her, eyes tired as he smiles softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

The opening limousine door and familiar yapping catch both their attention, a blue staff bounding to their legs and Tom crouches to the ground, taking his girl in his arms as she licks up his face in excitement. Y/N smiles through pursed lips, arms around herself as she attempts to conserve as much heat as she can.

"I take it Harrison spoke to you?" Tom grins, standing back at his regular height while Tessa licks at his slender fingers. The woman nods, a smile on her lips and Y/N begins to wonder how they know each other. Ex-lovers? Family friends? She doesn't know.

"Take the Rover, I'll have someone pick it up again in the morning," she nods to the Range Rover behind the limousine.

She's ready to walk away, has already spun on those thousand dollar heels with her back to the two before Tom stops her.

"Zendaya... thank you," he sighs, lips pressed tight and she looks back over her shoulder, nodding her head ever so subtly before muttering out, "Don't thank me yet, you know it doesn't end here," and she's gone, walking back to limousine without a second glance.

* * *

 

Y/N is the first out of the car, lids barely lifting as she struggles to blink the sleep away as Tessa sluggishly follows behind. They've pulled up outside a cottage in the outskirts of the city, darkness swarming them completely as Tom kills the engine and the headlights shut off.

It's cosy, that much she can already tell. The building is covered in old vines, flowers blooming even in the mid-November weather and Y/N swears she sees a butterfly flutter past her face... or is it a flurry of a snowflake? She can't be sure.

"You alright, darling?" Tom calls out from the backseat of the Rover, pulling out Y/N's bag and slinging it over his shoulder, kicking the door shut and wandering over to her.

Tom throws an arm over her shoulder and kisses her temple, rubbing his cold hand up and down the side of her arm, the friction creating only a little warmth as Tessa rubs her ear against his leg.

"When I was little, I used to imagine living in a little cottage house like this. With all the vines and trees and flowers. I used to imagine myself with a husband and a little boy who'd pick me flowers from the garden. I always wanted to live in a house like this. Never thought it'd be under these circumstances."

Tom watches her speak, his brows knitted and heart clenching at the saddened tone of her voice while she loos down at her feet, scuffing her slipper boots across the gravelled floor.

With a small sigh, he gently pinches her arm to gain her attention, not even a hint of a smile gracing her lips when she looks up at him.

"Just a week, love. That's all," the Mobster tries to reassure her, hand rubbing up and down her arm once more as the darkness swarms them both. Y/N nods to herself, mentally replaying those words.

_Just a week. Just a week. Just a week._

Tom digs his hand into his pocket, pulling out that golden key and leading the girl down the path to the front door. When they reach it, the King unlocks the home of their safety, pushing the door open and allowing Y/N to walk inside with Tessa at her ankles, and he follows close behind.

She gapes at the place a little. It's tiny. Much smaller than the outside gives away. The cottage holds its rustic theme throughout, beams on the low ceilings, small plant pots hanging from almost every corner of the room.

A fireplace seems to be the centrepiece, a large, cream couch (that Tessa immediately claims as her temporary bed) mirroring its position and the windows are caked in plants and condensation.

It's surprisingly warm in the empty cottage, but Y/N supposes it's due to the copious amounts of clutter in such little space. She stands behind the couch, head turning when she notices the poor excuse of a kitchen.

It isn't even half the size of the rectangular living room—a fridge, a sink, two counters, and an old crooked oven squished together. A dark wooden door comes off beside the fridge that leads to the bathroom, another from across the room that she guesses is the bedroom.

Wait. The  _only_ bedroom.

Tom watches the way her eyes subtly dart around the room, or more specifically, the way they darted  _between_ the two doors on either end of the room.

"Cosy," he mumbles, a little smile on his lips. He can still smell the burning logs he knows Zendaya had put on before they got there. Knows the fridge is probably full of food, too.

Y/N turns to him with pursed lips and eyes her bag in his hands, to which Tom quickly catches onto what she's silently asking and hands it over.

"I'm gonna go change," she jabs her thumb over her shoulder toward the door with pursed lips. Tom nods, nonetheless and watches her scurry away, her fragile body disappearing behind the bathroom door, and then he's all alone.

Tom sighs to himself, wiping his clammy hands over his sweatpants and rolling the stress and worry off his shoulders. Tessa peers her head over the back of the couch, a small whine sounding from her throat and Tom squints at her when she tilts her head at her owner.

"Don't look at me like that," he mumbles, huffing once and scuffing his feet along to the kitchen.

Opening the cupboard under the sink, a large bag of Tessa's favourite dog food greets him, a food and water bowl by its side with a tennis ball sitting in it.

"Here y'are, Tess," Tom calls, placing the bowls behind the couch and filling one with food. On his way back to the kitchen, he places the bag back in the cupboard, flicking on the tap to fill her water bowl, when the water sprays out at him, soaking his shirt right through.

"Fuck!" he hisses out, tugging the shirt away from his skin, hating the feeling of it clinging to his aching body. The bandage wrapped around his wound is surely drenched, knows he'll need to change it, so he tears the shirt off his torso and makes his way to the bedroom, dropping it to the floor once he enters.

It's small,  _tiny_ , actually. The twin-sized bed barely fits in the square boxed room, small nightstands either side with a lamp atop them. Sitting on the bed is another black duffle bag, a white sheet of folded paper above it with Toms name scribbled in black, cursive ink. With a shaky hand, he grabs the note, unfolding the paper and his eyes dart over the text.

_Tom,_

_Clothes and a gun. 50 grand cash... let's hope you won't need it. Stay sharp._

_Z._

Tom scrunches up the note, shoving it in the back pocket of his pants and unzipping the bag. One half holds the stacks of money, the other folded clothes with a Glock 19 sitting atop a pair of black sweatpants.

Tom moves the gun, shoving it down the small gap between the wads of money and side of the bag. He grabs the sweats and a plain black t-shirt, setting them on the grey checkered bed sheets before shoving the bag under his nightstand.

"Fuck," he hisses, noticing the crimson red seeping through the white bandage wrapped around his middle and sides. He doesn't hear the footsteps that carry a body through the living room, nor does he notice their abrupt stop at the bedroom door, until a sharp gasp snaps him from his gaze.

Tom spins around, eyes drooping and torso twisting. Y/N gapes at the man, eyes bulging out of their sockets as she watches the bandage stain a bright red.

She drops her bag to the ground, eyes the size of saucers as she rushes to his side. Her warm hands met his sides, holding his waist as she tugs the ruined bandage off.

Tom hisses, biting back a groan as she pads his wound with a clean area of the bandage. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I need to change it so it doesn't get infected," she whimpers, tears stinging at her eyes as she throws the matted cloth to the ground. She forces him to sit on the bed and falls to her knees, crawling toward her bag and yanking out a roll of fresh bandages.

She scurries back to his side, frantic to unravel the cotton and Tom places a steady hand over her trembling one. "Love, stop. Calm down," he croaks, holding her hands still but they continue to quake beneath his hold.

"I'm sorry," Y/N repeats, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes for a moment.

Tom watches her with parted lips. Her face is free from makeup, hair a mess but now tied atop her head. She wears a thin black camisole and a pair of cotton, checkered pyjama pants. Her hands continue to tremble, her bottom lip quivering as she regains her poise and opens her eyes again.

With steadier hands, she assesses his wounds, cleaning and rebandaging the gash in his side. Tom watches with a twinge between his eyebrows and complete adoration. He wonders how she's able to compose herself just like she did... wonders how she's suddenly so calm and skilled.

His thoughts are quickly interrupted when her chest is pressing flush against his, arms around his side as she wraps the bandage around him.

"I'm sorry," she whispers again, noses barely touching and he swallows. "Stop apologising," he shakes his head, sighing when she pulls away, tying and cutting off the roll as she secures the dressing.

"All done," she sighs, sitting back on her legs, palms resting flat on her thighs. Tom gazes down at his wrapped abdomen, the bandages secured and thick, knows he won't need to worry about bleeding through during the rest of the night.

She sighs again and climbs to her feet, reaching down to grab her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. "I usually wouldn't have a problem sharing a bed, but I don't want to hurt you any more than you already have been," Y/N explains, but she knows her excuse is shitty. She doesn't want to share a bed because she doesn't trust herself, doesn't trust her mind or heart.

Tom, on the other hand, just needs her close. He needs to feel human, to feel her soft skin on his, even if it's just the hold of her hand or the brisk passing touch of their arms. He shakes his head and grabs her wrist before she can walk away, spinning her around so she looks down at him.

"Don't be ridiculous, love. You could never hurt me," he laughs dryly, shifting to his claimed side of the bed and patting the empty space beside him. "Besides, I'm not about to let you sleep alone, not after what's happened," he sighs, eyes drooping.

Y/N purses her lips and lets out a sigh through her nose, nodding her head with downcast eyes. She drops her bag and flicks off the bedroom light, the small orange hue of the bedside lamps being the light in the dim room. Y/N rounds the bed and slouches upon it, lying flat on her back, eyes facing the ceiling and hands folding over her middle.

Tom sinks down to lay on his good side, which evidently has him facing her. He props his head up with his elbow, hand cupping his jaw as he studies her side profile the best he can. His free hand rests across his stomach, fingers inching closer to her until the pads of his fingertips are brushing the soft skin of her bare arm.

Y/N reaches her arm over, fingers intertwined with his as she rolls onto her side, body now just centimetres from his. She pulls his hand to her face, twisting their intertwined fingers and presses a kiss to each of his bruised knuckles.

Tom holds her hand tighter, offering it a gentle squeeze and tugging it toward him. She gets the hint and moves closer, noses briskly brushing. He releases her hand, moving it to cup her warm cheek and his thumb gently brushes over the slightly textured skin of her cheeks.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Tom whispers, brushing the tip of his nose against hers and her eyes flutter closed, lashes tickling the skin of his thumb in the process. Her breathing hitches when his thumb ghosts over the swell of her lips, her skin tingling against his touch.

They both know what's about to happen, the anticipation eating them alive and they're quickly reminded of what almost happened on the plane. Neither of them want to rush nor be interrupted, but being secluded in the middle of nowhere, the latter is doubtful to happen.

"Let me prove to you that I'm not like the others," he whispers against her lips, can feel her heart thumping against her chest as he pulls her into him. She's silent for a moment, mentally contemplating the pros and cons of what she's about to do. But none of it really matters, not when she's already sucked so far in.

So, she kisses him. She kisses him like he's never been kissed before. She snakes her fingers through his curls, tugs at the roots and swipes her sweet tongue across his bottom lip.

Tom grunts into her mouth as he parts his lips, welcoming her tongue and holding her face in his hands. She licks into his mouth, gently grinding her hips into his thigh, his thick hardness finally beginning to show and she can feel him against her leg.

Hesitantly, Toms hands travel down her neck and around to her back, feeling as much of her soft skin as he could. Y/N sucks on his bottom lip and grabs his hand, pushing it against her chest and guiding him to cup her breast through her shirt.

"Oh God," he whispers against her lips, thumb toying with her pearled nipple as it hardens at his touch, pinching the bud between his fingers and she gasps into his mouth.

"Want you," she whimpers breathlessly, hips grinding down on his thigh as Tom pulls the front of her camisole down, breasts free and nipples fully hardening at the cool air and her excitement.

Tom detaches his lips from hers and opens his eyes, almost cumming at the sight of her dishevelled hair and swollen lips. He swings a leg over her hips, now straddling her and shimmying down her body, eyeing her chest and groaning at the sight.

Her pink buds scream to be toyed with, eager for attention and so he gives in. The Mobster wraps his lips around her left nipple, nibbling and sucking, swirling his tongue around the hardened nub while her back arches in pleasure, chest rising and forcing him to suck harder.

"Fuck," she sighs out in contentment, eyes drooping when he hooks his fingers in the hem of her checkered pants, eyes flicking up for permission and the sight alone has her weak; his mouth on her breast as lust swarms around in his eyes.

Y/N nods her head breathlessly, begging him to take her pants off and make her feel as good as she imagined he can. He quickly rids her bottom half from the pyjama pants, throwing them to the ground and leaving her in her black underwear.

She knows there's nothing sexy about them, but she can't bring herself to care, not when his breath fans over her pulsing, clothed core. Tom doesn't care either, tears them straight from her legs and levels his face with her glistening pussy.

"Jesus Christ," he barely utters out, completely consumed by the sight of her and he hasn't even had a taste yet. Her entire pussy is swollen, throbbing and clenching for something to fill it.

Y/N has the sudden urge to close her legs, a wave of self-consciousness crashing over her after he's been staring a little too long for her liking. Tom is quick to stop her, though. Quick to pry her legs back open, pin the side of her knees to the mattress and dive right in.

He licks a bold stripe between her lips, her juices coating his tongue, the sweetness like heaven in his mouth and he licks again and again. She shivers after every agonising lick, eyes rolling back and fingers tugging on that luscious head of hair.

He sucks and slurps, frantic to get every last drop she seeps but it's all too impossible. He flicks his tongue and nibbles, teeth grazing and mouth slurping. She's seeing stars, the entire universe right in front of her eyes and she struggles to hold onto reality.

"God you're so fucking sweet, darling," he moans against her pulsing pussy, lapping up everything she offers, fingers teasing her entrance before he pushes them in, curling and scissoring, eyes bulging at just how tight and wet she really is.

Her legs begin to tremble, an overwhelming pressure sitting on her pelvic, travelling through her body as she tries to fight it back. Tom notices her sudden frantic change, the way she squirms and fights off what's going to happen. And then it suddenly hits him.

She had no idea she's about to orgasm.

"Come on, baby. You need to relax for me," he gently coaxes, fingers pumping at a much faster pace to make up for the lack of his mouth. She shakes her head and squirms again, panting out those little moans that have Tom twitching in his boxers.

"I... I can't, Tom, what's... Oh, God..." she stutters out, hips jutting sporadically and her body stiffens, a pornographic cry screaming through her throat and Tom shoves his mouth back onto her; sucking and licking her through her orgasm while her legs spasm.

"Oh, fuck! Tommy!" Y/N shrieks, body hurtling forward when he sucks that over sensitive bundle of nerves into his warm mouth. Tom moans against her at the sound of her moaning his name, the way she cries out for him.

He releases her clit with a wet slurp, kissing the soft skin before carefully climbing up her trembling body. His mouth and nose glisten with her arousal in the soft light, her heart skipping a beat at the sight.

She leans up and kisses his lips feverishly, whining at the taste of herself on his lips before she collapses back onto the bed with a tired giggle. Tom leans over her with a lazy smile on his lips, wiping his face with the back of his hand while she grins up at him.

"You just made me cum," she laughs, has to say it aloud as she isn't quite sure it actually happened. Tom grins and nods, dipping his head down to meet her lips in a cheeky kiss.

"There's more where that came from," he teases, though the smile drops from her face and she averts his gaze, the possible consequences of her actions now finally dawning on her.

"Hey," Tom whispers when he notices her sudden change in mood. He lifts her chin with his index finger, forcing her to look up at him. "I'm on cloud nine when I'm with you," he repeats the same words she cried to him on the plane, and she can't help but splutter out a chuckle.

He smiles at her, hand cupping her cheek as he kisses her lips ever so softly. Like she's a porcelain china doll, fragile and breakable. And in some parts, she is, completely and utterly.

"Not just one of my girls," he reminds her into the kiss, pulling away and looking into those bright eyes. "You promise?" she breathes out, brows slightly knitted and eyes drooping.

Before Tom can even open his mouth to reply, tapping on wooden floorboards sound through the room, the bed dipping as Tessa jumps up and plants herself between the two young lovers.

And just like that, her requested promise is forgotten about. Y/N has slipped into a deep slumber, body limp as sleep consumed her. Tessa whines from between them and Tom pulls the covers over Y/N's exposed lower half while pressing a sweet kiss to her swollen lips.

He lays back, finally, taking a deep breath and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Turning his head to the side, he pulls her camisole back over her chest and watches the way she peacefully breathes through her sleep, the way her hair remains sprawled out around her like a halo.

Tom closes his eyes and faces the ceiling, a kink locked in his brows. He's falling so incredibly hard, so insanely fast. Everything is so new but feels so right. But the more he watches her, the deeper he finds himself falling.

He can't let himself lose sight of what is important. Lose sight of the Mob, of coming out the most powerful. And as much as he hates to admit it, she's getting in the way of that.

Tom looks over when he feels movement from her side, heart clenching when she snuggles up to Tessa and throws an arm his way, fingers absentmindedly circling the soft skin of his bruised hand.

He knows he has to make a decision. Knows there'a no way in hell that he'll ever be able to rule the world and have her at the same time. But he can't bring himself to think anymore about the situation.

So instead, he lays on his good side and intertwines his fingers with hers, kissing the back of her hand and allowing the taste of her to linger on his lips as he falls into a light slumber.

 


	11. Dealbreaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once safety is assured and they finally begin to relax, Tom receives an incriminating text that changes everything.

When morning comes and the sun rises from her peaceful slumber, she waves to the moon as she passes him. Her golden rays shining for the world to see, light seeping through the misty windows of the cottage, and Y/N wakes.

She shifts in the sheets, brows furrowed as she rubs the sleep from her slightly swollen eyes. She reaches a hand over the bed, not expecting it to fall right into the crisp sheets, and she sits up; frown much deeper.

The memories of the night before slowly wake her mind, a light blush rising from her neck to her cheeks and she purses her lips to refrain an ever growing smile. Y/N nibbles on her bottom lip as she takes in the small expanse of the room.

Her knickers and pyjama pants are discarded on the floor, and the thought of sleeping bare beneath the covers with the King of all Mobsters is enough to send shivers down her spine.

And then it hits her again... she's alone.

Y/N struggles out of the bed, grabbing her checkered pants and slipping them up her legs, desperately trying to ignore that dull ache between her thighs, and the way her brain screams at her for being so stupid.

Before she can even begin to lecture herself or cry, a soft clanging and sharp hiss sounds from the kitchen of the cottage, thumping footsteps racing toward the bedroom as she sits up in the bed, sheets pooling in her lap.

A brown head of messy curls peers through the doorway, eyes squinted in a grimace. Y/N frowns, watching as Tom takes a step into the room, saucepan in one hand and a dishcloth in the other.

"I didn't wake you, did I?" he asks softly, that same grimace still on his lips and she supposes it's due to his worry of waking her.

She shakes her head and stifles a laugh. "No," she barely manages to croak out, voice hoarse and eyes still slightly stinging from the sleep she's been consumed in.

Tom grins at her sleepy state, the way her hair sticks up in every which direction and how her lips are just that little bit more swollen in the early light of the morning.

He disappears again and Y/N takes a deep breath, ready to crawl out of bed and try to prepare herself for the day cooped up in the little cottage, when he comes bolting back into the bedroom, pouncing on her already weak figure and she falls back into the sheets with a laugh.

Tom tries not to press his entire body on her, but the slightly crushing feeling he gives oddly seems to ease her, somehow makes it a little easier to breathe, when surely, it should do the complete opposite.

He buries his face into the crook of her neck, chapped lips tickling the warm expanse of her neck and she giggles out a muffled laugh, fingers tangled in his curls and he groans. "You're so warm," his words are muffled but she can just about make out what he said.

Y/N stifles a laugh. "'Cause I'm in bed... why did you get up?" she curiously asks, absentmindedly frowning when the weight of his body on hers eases and he sits back beside her, pulling her beneath the covers with him and she squeals a little when his warm, skilled hands reaches for her bare thigh.

"Was gonna make you breakfast but you look more delicious than the bacon," Tom teases, brows wiggling and she blushes profusely, palms flat against his toned abs through his shirt and she bites her lip to muffle a moan the best she can.

Tom grins, knowing the effect he has on her and sneakily, he trails the tips of his fingers up her inner thigh, breath hot on her lips and he can feel the goosebumps break out upon her smooth skin.

Her breathing hitches, eyes hooded with arousal and Tom teasingly presses an open-mouthed kiss to her bottom lip, swiping his warm tongue against it before his hand rounds her thigh and grabs a handful of her ass.

He chuckles at the way her eyes widen innocently, spare hand cupping the side of her face and he pulls her in for a kiss. A kiss so sweet he's sure he'll be diagnosed with diabetes at his next health checkup.

Y/N is the first to pull away, much to Tom's protest, and she smiles widely at the man, heart soaring at those chocolate mocha eyes. But then her smile drops, an overwhelming sinking feeling swallowing her whole and she cowers into herself a little.

Tom frowns, reaching out for her and brushing the stray strands of hair from her face. "Love? What's going on?" he asks gently, voice a smooth whisper and it only makes her sink further into the grave she's digging herself.

Y/N shakes her head, trying to muster up the most convincing smile she can, but Tom knows better. Of course, he does. He knows something is playing on her mind, and he isn't about to allow it to eat at her all day and night.

"Hey," his pointer finger raises her chin, glossy eyes finally looking at him. "Talk to me," he whispers, the sudden shift in the air bearing down on them. She sniffles and shrugs her shoulders, somewhat shimmying out of his grasp.

"I'm scared, Tommy. My Mum, Livvy... everything is so crazy and I'm not there with them, I'm just so–" Tom pulls her into his chest before she can stumble over her words anymore, tears staining his shirt but he doesn't mind, just like he doesn't mind the night before, on the plane.

He holds her for a little while, hand smoothing back her hair and fingers massaging her scalp. "You're okay, love. They're okay," he tries to soothe her nerves, feeling the way her body trembles in his hold.

"You don't know that, Tom. You don't know they're safe," she cries out, refusing to believe his words when she knows he has no proof, knows it's only an empty promise to make her feel better.

And as those words leave her lips, a familiar chirping sound echoes through the room. The pair still, know they won't hear that noise unless something has happened.

Y/N pulls away with wide eyes, tears halting but her bottom lip trembles. Tom inhales a deep breath and holds onto her hand, squeezing it as reassuringly as he could. He turns around to the nightstand and grabs the burner phone, watching as the screen lit up.

 **From:**  Unknown

_7233_

He lets out a sigh and twists the screen so Y/N could see. She squints her slightly sleep-swollen eyes, lips parted as she reread the same four numbers again before turning to Tom with a slight frown.

"What the hell does that mean?" she asks, a slight hint of panic in her tone and Tom drops the phone and cups her cheeks in his paw-like hands. He gently wipes the stray tears with the pads of his thumbs.

"It means they're safe," he assures her through a little smile, watches the way her muscles relax and brows un-furrow. She stares at him for a moment, chin slightly quivering in relief before she lets out a choked laugh and throws herself in his lap.

Tom wraps his arms around the girl, holds her in his lap and brushes her hair from her face. Her grip on him tightens whenever he moves, and he has to bite back a chuckle at her neediness.

"Thank you," she mumbles against his shirt, sniffling back any tears that threaten to spill. Tom hugs her closer and shakes his head. "Nothing to thank me for, darling," he whispers back, pressing a kiss to the top of her head and she pulls away with a smile.

Their faces hover just inches apart, breathes tangled as the tips of their noses bump against each other. "I know this is gonna screw everything, but I think I like you..." Y/N admits breathlessly, cheeks flushing and Tom grins.

He pecks her lips before slowly pulling away, noses still bumping as he takes her hands in his. She pushes herself forward, warm, swollen lips enveloping his in a soft yet searing kiss. He gently sucks on her bottom lip, fingers tangling in her hair on the back of her head and he pulls her closer to him.

She moans into the kiss, bringing her legs to straddle his lap and her fingers get lost in his untamed locks, tugging and pulling on the hairs and he groans into her mouth.

"Promise me you won't break my heart," she whispers against his lips, fingers threading through his hair and he pecks her swollen lips.

* * *

 

"Holy shit," Harrison gasps out, a chuckle quickly following as his sweaty back clings to the sheets of the mattress.

A small giggle follows, a freshly manicured hand resting on his chest. Harrison turns to the girl, grinning at her and kissing her swollen lips.

"That's one way to take a break from studying," he quips playfully, laughing when she smacks his chest and jumps up from the sheets, tugging on her sweats and t-shirt.

Olivia looks back at him over her shoulder, sliding her glasses up her nose and the Mobster laughs at her softly. He holds his arms open, waiting for her to pounce into them, but she doesn't. Instead, she throws his shirt at him.

He pouts at her. "Don't give me that look. Mum's gonna be home soon and you're meant to be helping me study  _downstairs_ ," she reminds him, her Mother's very threatening words seeping through his mind and Harrison jumps up and throws his clothes on.

"Didn't she say she'd text you when she was leaving the hospital?" he asks, tugging his black socks back on and Olivia gives him a look. "She wants us to think that. Trust me, she's done it to Y/N plenty of times," Olivia remarks.

Harrison helps the girl make her bed and adjust her bedroom, putting the lamp back on her nightstand that they'd knocked over in a fit of passion and need.

"Okay, let's go," she huffs out, shoving her feet in her slippers and guiding Harrison down the hall and stairs, through the foyer and into the kitchen.

Her law books are scattered around the round, wooden table, two coasters in the middle with a glass of water and a mug of now-cold tea. Harrison takes a seat at the table and reads over her notes that she'd written before he scooped her off her feet, while Olivia pours away the cold beverage and flicks on the kettle.

"What do you think they're doing? Tom and Y/N, I mean," Livvy asks, prepping her mug with a tea bag and two scoops of sugars.

Harrison twists in his seat, arms resting on the back of the chair and he watches her lean against the counter with her arms folded over her chest.

He shrugs. "Dunno, maybe sleeping?" he proposes, though his words seem more of a question.

Olivia frowns. "Sleeping? At four in the afternoon?" she scrunches her face up, turning around to pour the boiling water in the mug before making her way to the fridge and pulling out the milk.

"We don't know what time zone they're in," Harrison defends, turning back to the copious amount of pages scattered across the table.

Livvy hums from across the kitchen, throwing the tea bag in the bin and returning the milk to its rightful place in the fridge door. She grabs her mug and slowly pads over to the blond man and her work.

"You got question eight wrong," he mumbles from across from her, watching her sit down and place the mug beside his glass of water. She frowns and snatches the paper from his hand, looking over the page and rereading her question and answer.

"Shit..." she mumbles, reaching for her pencil and scribbling the answer out, quickly correcting it before she'd type up her final draft. "Remind me not to tell Ms Grendell I had a Mobster help with my homework." She quips through a snort.

Harrison grins, takes a swig of his water, and snatches the page from her hands, reading over her new answer and praising her.

Just as she's about to make a snippy remark, Harrison's eyes widen and he raises his finger to his mouth, silently telling her to be quiet.

She frowns and purses her lips shut, leaning over the table in hopes of hearing clearer of what he was. Harrison subtly reaches into the back of his belt as the rustling grows louder and clearer. He grips the Glock in his hand, ready to retrieve and fire when a familiar face comes stumbling through.

He lets out a sigh of relief and releases his grip, bringing his hands back onto the table and Olivia yelps. "Bloody hell, Mum. What are you trying to do? Give us a heart attack?" she yells out, hand on her chest as she sinks back in her seat.

Rachel hauls shopping bags onto the kitchen counters and turns back to face the two. She squints at them. "Didn't mean to interrupt your..." she looked over the table and raised a brow when she sees the books, "... studying," she hums.

Olivia rolls her eyes and subtly glances at Harrison, who bites back a smirk he knows he can't afford to let take over his face. Rachel turns her back to them and begins unpacking the groceries, placing them all in their respective places.

It isn't until she catches sight of Y/N's favourite mug that she finally spins around and faces the Mobster. "Where is she?" Rachel asks quietly, Olivia stilling and dropping her pen in her book.

Harrison purses his lips and shakes his head a little. "We don't know," he admits solemnly, hating the sinking feeling of his stomach when he watches the Mother's shoulders sag in disappointment.

"Is she safe?" she asks again, words a little more hopeful but not as much as when she'd asked her first question.

As a Mother, all she wants, is to know her little girl is safe. She knows there's no way she'll be able to offer her the protection she needs after helping a couple of Mobsters, so she has to come to terms that the King of them, will take care of her.

Harrison nods with slightly pursed lips and Rachel lets out a long breath of relief, Olivia watching her Mum take a step back with a very small, but still noticeable smile. "She's gonna be okay, Mum. He'll look after her," Olivia tries to reassure her Mother with a seemingly innocent smile.

Rachel looks at her daughter and squints her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?" she quips, head slightly tilted and Olivia's jaw drops a little. Harrison shifts before scratching the back of his head and finally speaking up.

"Just that Tom would risk his life to ensure her safety. Trust me, Mrs Richards, Y/N is safe with him."

* * *

 

Y/N lets out a sharp cry, head pounding and she stumbles back a little, glaring at the doorframe she's just walked into.

"Where the fuck did you come from," she groans, hand gently rubbing over the already egg-shaped swell that's beginning to grow on her forehead, the skin already surely bruising.

"You okay, love?" a soft voice calls out from the other end of the house and she shuffles out of the bedroom, plopping on the couch and sighing at the sheer warmth of the fire Tom has started.

"M'fine," she mumbles out, brows furrowed and she rubs over the sore spot. Tom notices her shift uncomfortably, can hear the little winces that slip from her lips when she prods a particularly sore spot.

He huffs and shakes his head with a little smile, already concluding she's walked into the doorframe. Tom leans down and digs through the freezer, hand rummaging through the frozen goods until he finally finds what he's looking for; frozen peas.

He wraps the bag in a dish towel and makes his way over to her, sitting on the couch as Tessa gets herself comfy by their feet. "Here," he speaks softly, handing her the covered frozen peas and encouraging her to place them to her head.

She lets off a look of discomfort as she shuffles on the sofa, and soon enough, she's curled into Tom's side as they watch the fire crackle and pop. "Want some tablets?" his muffled voice asks, and she shales her head while snuggling closer into him.

"Just wanna cuddle," she mumbles sleepily, side of her face pressed against his shirt and Tom's heart pulses in his chest, thumping against his ribs and he wonders if she can feel it.

He swallows back his somewhat nerves. He isn't entirely sure why he feels so odd holding her, especially after their activities from the night before. Maybe it's how she admitted she has strong feelings for him, or maybe it's just the fact that he's scared.

Tom has always been a man of pleasure and business, never one of love. Yes, he loves his family, more than anything, but the last time he fell in love with a woman, she broke his heart and his Father was to blame.

"What are you thinking about?" Y/N softly asks, pulling out of his grasp just enough to look up at him through her lashes. He purses his lips and gently pecks hers before pulling back with a sigh.

He doesn't want to tell her, isn't yet ready to be so vulnerable about his past, but before he can make up an excuse, he hears her sigh and take his hand in hers. "It's about what happened, isn't it?" she whispers gently, as though if she speaks them any louder they'll break him.

He clears his throat and ponders for a minute. Should he lie and agree, or tell her what is really on his mind? Before he can rationalise or think it through, he's already agreeing with her.

"Tommy, what happened?" she asks and he looks at her for a moment. He knows he has to tell her, she wouldn't be hiding if it never happened. She deserves to know, right?

"His name is Eric Price, worked for my Dad before I took over the Mob," he begins, untangling himself from Y/N so she can sit opposite him with her legs crossed and his hands in hers. She nods her head, waiting for him to continue.

"He was like my Dad's apprentice, in a way, like a son he never had," Tom feels sick to his stomach to even call Dom his Dad, but it's important, so important.

"Of course, he could never take over the Mob from him, only a Holland could. When there was talk of him and Mum retiring, I was immediately the only one to run it, being the eldest and all," he explains, scratching the back of his neck.

"So, when I did, _take it over_ , he didn't like it. Made an attack on our family and my Dad was too stupid to believe it was him. Price killed someone close to us, kidnapped Paddy, and ruined everything. So, I killed someone close to him," he reminisces, heart pounding in his chest and he has to fight back the tears that threaten to spill.

Y/N watches with wide eyes and a slack jaw, completely astonished at what he and his family have been through. "He disappeared after that, for two and a half years. And then two days ago, he showed up out of nowhere... planted a bomb at the compound and we barely made it out alive," he concludes, takes a deep breath and purses his lips.

Y/N knows he hasn't explained everything, but getting this much out of him is a miracle alone. She won't dare push him for the details, not after hearing what happened, seeing his face when his mind takes him back to those horrendous memories.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers, a single tear welling in her eye before it trickles down her flushed cheeks. Tom smiles through pursed lips and shakes his head, pulls her into his side and presses a kiss to her head.

"And then, you saved us," he chuckles softly, holding her close and the bag of peas she has to her head are long forgotten. He basks in her comfort for a moment, relishing in her touch and understanding.

He wants to stay like this with her for as long as possible, wants to be selfish and stay secluded from the others, where he can just be with her, but all good things always come to an end, and Tom has to remind himself that this is only temporary.

She shifts from his hold, sitting up and cupping his warm cheeks in her cold palms, pressing a kiss to his slightly swollen lips. "I'm gonna go get the blanket. Stay here," she mutters, allowing him to kiss her lips back and he nods.

Tom watches Y/N scatter across the room and disappear in the bedroom. He slouches back into the sofa, gently holding his healing side when the burner phone in his joggers pocket alerts him he has a message.

He frowns. No more than one message unless of an emergency was the deal. He digs his hand through his pocket and fishes it out, brows furrowed and lip caught between his teeth when he reads over the un-coded message from the unknown number.

 **From:**  Unknown

_You're not the only one still alive. Remember Amelia? Bring me Y/N and maybe you can see her again._

He's frozen, eyes scanning over the message in hopes of  _something_. He hears her voice echo from the bedroom, heart pounding in his chest and he throws the phone back in his pocket, forcing on a smile when she cuddles back into him and throws the blanket over their legs. He stares at the burning fire with only one thought on his mind.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown.

 


	12. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A month has passed and Tom is more than ready with a plan to get Y/N back home… even if it means she never trusts him again.

Snow has fallen and time has passed... a month, to be precise. Four whole weeks since he made her feel like she was an angel — since he received that text. The little cottage has somehow grown increasingly smaller the more Tom tried to avoid the girl. He knew it was useless, she would always end up in the same room as him, but boy, did he still try.

Not even two days after the text message and Tom had started sleeping on the couch. He barely utters three words to Y/N. She's lucky to even receive a glance from him, let alone any physical contact. She wonders what happened, what's changed. One minute he's holding her, kissing her, promising to stay by her side. And the next? He's cold, distant, acts like she isn't even there.

She spends her days coddling into herself, jumper sleeves hanging from her icy fingertips like she's too scared to show him the skin he once held, the hand she once thought she was beginning to hold his heart in.

She isn't the only one feeling the loss of what was never hers. Tessa has quickly begun to mope around the cottage, solemn whines slipping from her snout and her paws tiredly pad across the floor. It's like she can sense the heartache in the atmosphere, and she often finds herself sleeping in the bed with Y/N, cuddling her as she cries herself to sleep most nights. Her owner has seemingly abandoned the young woman, and the poor dog can't understand why.

The night's have begun to grow longer, day's shortening and the presence of sunlight is considered a rarity. Neither Tom or Y/N can keep track of the days, but Y/N is certain she's missed Christmas... that she's spent it alone, despite the man she cares so deeply for sleeping in only the other room.

Y/N sits on the couch, a woollen blanket draped over her legs and she curls into herself a little, the fire crackling opposite her and the same book she's already read for times sits in her lap. Tessa sits close beside her; head resting on her knee and body cuddled close to her side.

The cottage is quiet, silent, actually. The only noises heard are the crackling firewood, soft turnings of pages, Tessa's soft snores and the dull sounds of pelting water from behind the locked bathroom door. Y/N stares at the handle for a little while, wonders if maybe this time he'll come out and smile at her,  _look at her_. But when the water stops and the door opens,  _he_ _doesn't_.

Tears of loss and disappointment are quick to pool in her eyes and she quickly blinks them back before they can slip over her waterline. She won't let him see her hurt, she  _can't_. She can't allow herself to be vulnerable in front of him... not for him to distance himself further away from her. She can't bear it.

Tom leans against the counter, hands holding himself up and he takes a deep breath. In a pair of sweats and a long sleeved shift, Tom sighs and ruffles a hand through his damp curls. He can hear her breathing from the sofa, can hear the soft sniffles she tries to hide, and God does it hurt him. It pains him to do what he's doing, but he's stuck. He's so goddamn stuck.

He knows what he's doing is wrong, that by ignoring her she's only spiralling into a deep sea of insecurity and loneliness. But what is he supposed to do? He misses Amelia, he  _need_ _s_ to know the truth, even if that means keeping Y/N in the dark and ultimately losing her.

The sound of shuffling behind him catches his attention, but he doesn't turn. He doesn't see Y/N stare at his back with pure heartbreak, or the way she moves back to the bedroom and gently closes the door — but he hears. He hears her soft footsteps followed by her quiet cries from the bedroom.

Tom squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head but it's no use. He can't m block out her sobs, the way he wants to hold her and apologise. He can't kiss her and tell her he's going to keep her safe, that there's a reason behind it all. He can't risk it.

Instead, he takes another deep breath and feels his lower abdomen. He no longer needs a gauge wrapped around his torso, nor to clean it every few hours, not now that it's scarring over. He digs through the freezer and pulls out a pizza, removing the packaging and slipping it into the oven.

Tessa whines from the sofa, peering over the back of it and watching Tom sit beside her. She takes purchase in his lap, breathing softly as he pets her head and scratches behind her ear. He stares at her for a moment, relishes in the little moment they share before she jumps off him and pads to the bedroom, ready to comfort Y/N.

"Give her a cuddle for me," he mumbles to himself, Tessa peeking through the bedroom and she wags her tail before she disappears and Tom lets out another sigh.

He sits there for a moment, mind running and for the first time in a long time, Tom's scared. He's scared of what his actions will result in. He's scared things will go wrong. He has to do the right thing, and he knows that ignoring Y/N is far from right.

* * *

 

Olivia huffs through her nose and shakes her head, phone bouncing on the sofa as she throws it. Rachel watches her from across the room, a cup of tea in her hand and an eyebrow arched. She observes her daughter who sits with a frown, head still shaking and she huffs again.

"What is it?" Rachel asks, setting her mug on the table and Olivia turns to her with arms crossed over her chest.

"Dad isn't answering. Hasn't for a month." Olivia seethes, fingers gripping at her hair and she stands from the sofa and sits in the seat opposite her Mum.

Rachel frowns and grabs her phone, quickly typing in the passcode and finding hers and Adam's messages. She stares at the screen for a moment, taking note of all the blue and green messages but none from his side.

"I'm worried why we haven't heard from him. He was supposed to be back a month ago, remember?" Livvy screeches quietly as if she doesn't want to say the words any louder or it may be true.

Rachel closes her eyes for a moment and sighs. "Maybe it's time we ask Harrison for help," she suggests, cringing at the way Olivia's eyes burn with fire and she sits back a little.

"Harrison? You mean the twat that for the last two weeks has been nothing but a fucking wanker?" She spits, Rachel's eyes widening at her daughter's language, but she can't scold her, not when she's speaking the truth.

Everything is fine. Harrison promised that Y/N and Tom were safe and he was doing a pretty good job at keeping Olivia and Rachel sane while they were locked up at the house. He'd promised Rachel that while he may be a little older and in a dangerous line of business, that he truly cared for Olivia and that he'd do anything to make her happy and keep her safe.

_What a joke._

Rachel shakes her head and reaches for Olivia's hand across the table. "He might be a twat, but this is your sister's and your father's safety, Liv." Rachel reminds her, offering her hand a gentle squeeze and Olivia closes her eyes for a moment.

Her Mother is right and she knows it. But Harrison is breaking her heart and she doesn't want to let him back in again, not for him to just disappear.

"Fine." She huffs, taking a deep breath and wandering back to the couch, grabbing her phone and dialling that phone number she knows by heart. Doesn't matter that she deleted it, it's forever etched into her mind.

With the phone to her ear, Olivia closes her eyes, blocking out the ringing until it comes to an abrupt stop and her heart stammers in her chest.

"Livvy? Everything okay?" Harrison's gentle voice breaks the silence and she holds her breath. She isn't even sure if he'd answer or not, but he did, and she has to put Y/N and Adam's best interest at heart.

"I uh... we need your help."

* * *

 

She hasn't left the bedroom, but her cries have died down to a soft silence. Tessa remains by her side, nose nuzzled into the palm of her hand. Tom sits on the couch, cooked pizza now cold and in the trash. His appetite is long gone and he knows it's unlikely Y/N would want any.

He twists the burner cell between his fingers, eyes trained on the firewood dying, chippings breaking away and crackling through the silent room. Her smile toys his mind, taunting him for being so stupid, for what he's going to do.

Just a phone call, that's all that's needed, all it would take for the beginning of the next chapter. He knows it's coming, knows it needs to happen, or no one would be safe. But that doesn't stop the shock or the way his heart stammers in his chest when the phone rings in his hand.

With trembling fingers, he accepts the call and brings the phone to his ear. "It's done." Harrison's rugged voice speaks, and the line falls dead. Tom drops the phone to the couch, tears prickling at his eyes and he knows  _everything_  is about to change.

He inhales a shaky breath, quaking hands clasping over his mouth and he watches the flames of the fire rise. He feels sick, completely sick to his stomach at what he's about to do, what he  _has_  to do. He doesn't want to hurt her, it physically pains him to even think about putting a frown on her pretty little face.

He knows she's in bed right now, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. He knows she's doubting herself, wondering what the hell she did wrong. He knows she's spiralling into a neverending pit of despair, and he knows he's the reason. That what he's about to do next will only fuck with her head when she realises what's going on.

Tom twists the silver band on his middle finger, the cool metal flush against his bruised skin and he finds himself doing the last thing he ever thought he would do. "I know I'm the last person you'd ever listen to... if there's even anyone listening," he trails off with a chuckle, shaking his head.

He doesn't bother to wipe away his tears, nor sniffle them back. Instead, he lets out a small cry and squeezes his hands together, knuckles whitening from the strength of his grip. "But please... make her understand why I'm doing this. Just make her remember that it's because I care, because I can't lose another person that I love—" and as quickly as the words tumble from his lips, his mouth clamps shut.

He stares at the ground, brows knitted together and he purses his lips, desperate to conceal a sob.  _I can't lose another person that I_ ** _love_**. He shakes his head.  _This can't be happening_. He lets out a shaky breath, rising to his feet and pacing in a short circuit. With a hand in his hair, he puts out the fire and flicks off the lights.

Y/N can hear him, can hear his heavy footsteps, and for the first time in four weeks, they wander closer to the bedroom door, and her heart drops in her chest. Her throat grows dry, heart stammering in her chest and she keeps her eyes closed.

On the other side of the door, Tom toes off his shoes and takes what felt like the hundredth deep breath in just five minutes. He flicks off the hallway light and gently, with trembling hands, he pushes the bedroom door open.

It creaks softly, Tom wincing just a little and he slowly creeps through the crack, closing it right behind him. The room is completely black, her delicate figure curled up on what once was his side. Tom's heart explodes and he wants to cry on the spot, wants to scream that he's  _so fucking sorry_.

Instead, he tugs off his jeans and t-shirt, leaving himself in a pair of black boxer briefs. He gulps back his nerves  _(...wait, nerves?)_  and pulls back the covers. Y/N's body stiffens, tears threatening to spill over and she wonders if he's finally going to stay. If he's going to hold her like he did that night.

Tom slips into the bed, breathing unsteady and he settles his head into the pillow. He turns to look at her, positive she's asleep, but then he catches the pause in her once steady breathing, and he knows she's awake.

She keeps quiet, eyes clenched shut and hands ball into fists that she cuddles into. Tom bites his bottom lip and closes his eyes for a moment. He feels like a dick. He  _is_ a dick. But with another mental reminder that it's all for her safety, he does it.

Tom turns on his side and snakes his arm around her waist, pulling her closer so his naked chest meets with her back. He hears the way her breathing staggers in her throat. He closes his eyes and waits, waits for her to push him away, but she doesn't.

Y/N lets out a silent sob, salty tears slipping down her swollen cheeks and she rests her hand over his, fingers intertwining and she cuddles her back into him. Tom lets out a shaky breath, holding her tighter and gently kissing the soft skin of her exposed neck.

He nuzzles his face into her, body relaxing at the smell of her coconut shampoo and he kicks himself for doing this to her, for making her feel like she isn't important, like he doesn't care.

Her hold on his hand tightens a little, their fingers intertwined and locked. It's her way of saying  _it's okay_ , of telling him that she understands he's scared, but she was always there for him.

But it isn't because he's scared — well, not entirely. Because he is scared, petrified, actually. She's taking over his mind and holding his heart and it frightens him to no end. But the real problem is what he and Harrison have planned. That tomorrow morning, she'll be in danger and Tom would give her away like she's nothing.

"I'm sorry, love," he whispers into her neck, peppering kisses against her skin and she yearns for him to kiss her lips instead. Her body breaks out in goosebumps, a chill down her spine as he kisses her shoulder. Y/N weeps silently, knuckles whitening at just how tightly she's holding him.

She turns in his hold, bloodshot eyes staring into his coffee brown ones, and he swears his heart stops. Her skin is discoloured, small pimples scattering across her skin, the tip of her nose a dark red, and he's sure he's never seen anything more beautiful — more pure.

With chapped lips, she takes a shaky breath and studies his face for the first time in weeks, notices the way his eyes seem more sunken in and the lack of sleep haunts his skin. Tom notices the way her eyes focus on his lips and wonders if maybe she feels that same overwhelming need that he does.

Hastily, he leans forward, eyes on hers and she nods ever so subtly. They move together, lips finally meeting in the middle and it's like they're  _home_. The kiss is soft and gentle, yet so full of passion and everything they both needed to know. Tom cups her soft cheek in the palm of his calloused hand, kissing her a little harder, but Y/N only welcomes it.

With her eyes squeezed closed, her small hand wraps around his wrist, gently pulsing around him. It's like she's afraid to let go. Scared that if she opens her eyes or releases his wrist, he'll be gone and she would've dreamt the entire thing. But when Tom pulls away and pecks her lips one more time, she can feel his warm breath against her skin — can feel their limbs tangling under the sheets, and she knows her dream can never amount to how real that feels.

So, she opens her eyes and lets out a sigh, a little smile toying on her lips at the fact that he's still there. But there isn't a smile on his, no. He seems expressionless, like he's deep in thought and the look seems so familiar to her, she's worried he'll leave again.

"Do you trust me?" It's a stupid question, they both know, but Tom needs to re-establish that bond again for the plan to work. He watches her brows furrow for a moment, the way she nibbles on her chapped bottom lip, and she nods her head, craning her neck to kiss the edge of his palm.

"If I tell you I trust you, will you tell me what happened?" She asks, voice hesitant as she utters the words. They both know what she's talking about; how he acts like she doesn't exist for weeks and then suddenly cuddles up to her in bed like nothing has happened.

It hurts her, of course, it does. It feels like all her past relationships — like she's being used and toyed with. He swore he'd keep her safe, that he'd protect her. And sure, maybe he did, but he didn't protect her heart, he fucking  _destroyed_  it.

"I'll tell you why when we get home." He practically pleads, hands holding hers and he watches the way she scrunches up her face with a scoff. Y/N pulls her hands from his, shaking her head and rolling out of the bed, watching him sit up with the sheets pooling in his lap, toned chest out on display and she has to tear her eyes away from him.

"Come on, Tom. Really? And when will that be?" She shrieks, her saddened posture long forgotten as anger quickly replaces it. She flings her hands and arms in the air and they smack back down the sides of her legs.

"Tonight," he whispers, the word stilling her movements and she freezes. There's no way in hell she's hearing him right... she can't be. One minute he's not talking to her and they're staying for four weeks... the next he's holding her and they're going home?

"What?" Y/N breathes shakily, watching Tom crawl to the edge of the bed. He stands on his knees, mattress dipping as he takes her clammy hands in his. He kisses her fingertips, staring up at her with doe eyes and she gulps.

"I'll ask you again. Do you trust me, darling?" He whispers, voices a soothing tone and she almost swoons.  _Almost_.

She stares down at him, tears brimming in her eyes. "How am I supposed to trust you when you don't fucking talk to me, Tom? When I let myself be vulnerable and you just act like I don't exist when we're in the same fucking house!?"

She's livid now, vision clouded with a deep red and she's certain steam oozes from her pores. Tom is frantic, desperate for her to just  _fucking listen_ , but he can't blame her, not when this is all his fault.

"I was scared! Okay? I was scared that I'd fuck everything up, so I distanced myself, and guess what? I fucked it up anyway. I've been trying to make it safe for us to go home, for  _you_ to go home, and I just need you to trust me, darling." He begs.

She stares at him for a moment, shoulders slumping and a tear slips down her cheek, breaking the seal. She falls to the bed, a sobbing mess, clutching Tom like there's no tomorrow and he holds her as close to him as possible. The floodgates are open and there's no stopping her, no stopping the heartache she feels.

Tom rubs a hand up and down Y/N's back, soothing her from the brink of despair and she sniffles back any tears that threaten to spill. "What happens when we go back? Do I go back to my flat?" she asks softly, pulling away from his hold and Tom purses his lips.

"I'd like for you to stay with me for a little while, just to make sure." He admits, purposely missing out the part where he's still trying to figure out why Price wants her in the first place.

She nods her head and scratches her nose — a nervous habit, Tom has come to notice. Tom kisses her forehead softly, closing his eyes when she doesn't pull away from him. He brushes the hair from her face and helps her stand back on her feet, reaching beneath the bed for her duffle bag and his.

They spend the next twenty minutes packing in silence, stolen glances flickering back and forth as Tessa lazes on the bed. The silence isn't sickening like it was before, no. If anything, it seems calming, like it's just what they needed — like they haven't just spent four weeks in silence.

When the bags are packed and the fire is put out, the three of them pad out the door and down the snow-covered drive, leaving pawprints and footprints in their path. A black SUV waits outside, empty, just like Tom had requested. With Tom in the driver's seat, Y/N in the passengers, and Tessa lounging in the back, they make their way to the airport.

Tom holds her hand in his, occasionally kissing her knuckles as she stares out the window. The snow is turning to slush and roads slippery and Tom takes extra care while driving. No words are shared, the radio silent and all that could be heard are the gentle hums of the engine and soft snores from the blue staffy in the back.

The entire drive to the airport stays that way. Y/N wonders what would happen between her and Tom when they get back to London, where their friendship would go or end. Tom wonders how he'll ever get her to trust him again, whether or not she'll ever  _look_  at him again.

By the time they arrive at the airport, it's two in the morning, a small white jet waiting for them and they all clamber in one by one. Y/N sits on one of the couches, Tessa resting beside her with her head in her lap. Tom looks around for a moment as the door closes, eyeing the seats and trying to figure where will be best to sit.

Y/N watches him for a moment, eyes drooping before she utters that nickname that kills him every time. "Tommy," she breathes, his head snapping to her direction, his eyes a doey brown. He smiles softly at her, running a hand through his messy curls before he plops beside her.

Y/N rests her head on his shoulder, cheek squashed and she curls into his side. His body is warm, soft grey shirt gentle on her skin and she can already feel her eyes lulling. "Promise me we'll talk when we get home," she murmurs out, words slurred but they melt Tom's heart nonetheless.  _Home_.

He hums in agreement and kisses the top of her head. She snakes her arm around his, Tom lacing their fingers together and he rests his cheek on her head, soft breaths falling from her lips and Tom's heart pounds in his chest.

It doesn't matter that he's planned it to perfection, nor that he's prepared himself for every possible outcome. Tom is nervous — he's  _scared_ , and the closer they get to London, the less time he has with her.

He spends the flight deep in his thoughts, desperate to keep in mind that this is for the best. He knows Amelia is gone, knows they don't have her, but a part of him still hopes she's alive.

He was in love with her, head over heels, and she was torn from him before he ever got to tell her. But he heard the gunshot, he saw her body fall, and he watched the life drain from her eyes and rosy cheeks as they pulled him away and beat him black and blue.

He can still remember it like it was yesterday; can still feel the hammering in his chest whenever he holds a gun, much less used it. His mouth turns dry and blood runs cold, his heart thumping like no tomorrow at the thought of there being a possibility she is still alive.

Because if she is, that changes everything.

Y/N snores softly beside him, grip loose on his hands but he doesn't mind — not when he still feels her skin on his, feels her warmth and gives her a sense of security. He savours it the best he can, drinking it all in and letting her seep through his pores. He needs to remember the way she feels, the way she loves.

She shifts against him, curling further into his side and her free arm drapes over his middle, cuddling him completely. Tom stills for a moment, eyes wide and blurred with tears. Her face is squished in the most unattractive way — her lips parted with soft snores slipping past them, but  _fuck_ , if she isn't the most incredible thing he's ever laid eyes on.

Tom feels his heart rate quicken and breathing stagger. He's a fucking  _mobster_ , a  _King_. He shouldn't be feeling this hooked on some regular girl that lived in his building, but he is. He's absolutely wrapped around her somewhat crooked finger, and while it scares him to death, it comforts him.

He feels like his troubles are lifted when she smiles at him; a smile she's so insecure about, but one he argues could put the sun, stars and moon to shame. She isn't perfect, no. Far from it actually, and the more Tom stares at her, the more flaws he notices — well, flaws are what  _she_  would call them.

He doesn't understand why she doesn't like the little crook in her nose or the scar peeking from her hairline that he is yet to ask her about. He doesn't know why she's insecure about the way one front tooth slightly overlaps the other, or that she has a double chin when she looks down.

Tom doesn't understand why she dislikes her body, why she shies away from him and covers herself. He doesn't understand why she hates that her stomach rolls and folds gently when she sits down, or that her thighs aren't thinner. He doesn't understand why she doesn't love herself like she loves others.

"Love you," she mumbles out through her sleep, words strung together in a drunken slur, but Tom hears  _exactly_  what is said. And it's enough to set the first tear over the edge and for the rest to shortly follow.

* * *

 

She stares out the window with a frown, darkness consuming them as Tom drives them down the lower roads of London, dark countryside swallowing them. Usually, Y/N loved car rides by the country, but this evening, it irks her, like something is waiting in the darkness.

Her eyes are still fluttering closed every now and then, the sleep deprivation hitting her like a truck and she struggles to stay awake. She wonders where she'll sleep when she gets to Tom's. His bed? A guest room? Part of her hopes for the former, but the realistic side of brain reminds her it'll likely be the latter.

Too caught up in her thoughts, she almost misses the way Tom takes a different turning than the one that leads to his home. She frowns and sits up in her seat, looking to Tom, who sits with a hard expression, then back to the window.

"Tom, you went the wrong way," she mumbles slightly, confused but also assuming he has a shortcut. Tom ignores her comment for a moment and keeps driving, only causing her frown to grow worry lines between her brows.

"Tom?" she calls his name again, hoping to break him from the little trance he seems to be looped into. He turns to her briefly before looking back at the road.

"Need to make a detour... gotta pick something up before we go back." He tells her, though his tone doesn't seem very persuasive.

Tom notices the reluctance to believe his words and quickly reaches his hand over the console. He takes hers in his, bringing it to his lips where he kisses her knuckles and shoots her a soft smile. "S'okay, love," he reminds her.

She lets out a shaky breath and nods her head, easing back into the seat but keeping her fingers intertwined with his. A nagging continues to nibble at the back of her mind, and she twiddles with the silver band on his finger to take her mind off it.

She presumes it's only paranoia, after what has happened and them being in hiding for a solid month. It's only natural to feel on edge when returning back home, she knows that. But this... this feels...  _different_ , like Tom isn't telling her something.

Her worry and suspicions only grow when Tom pulls up on a gravelly path, headlights illuminating the sleet that falls and the abandoned warehouse in front of them. She squeezes his hand as he kills the engine, letting him know that she's scared.

"S'okay. We'll be quick," he mentions, unbuckling his belt and hers.

She grabs his hand with wide eyes. " _We_? Why am I going in there? Can't I stay with Tess?" She asks, looking over her shoulder where the loyal staffy lay asleep on the leather seats.

Tom cups her warm cheeks in his palms, brushing over the swollen skin beneath her eyes from lack of sleep, and lifting her head so she looks up at him. Though his eyes hold nothing but reassurance, the little glimmer of guilt that twinkles in his eye sends her mind into a frenzy.

Nevertheless, she frowns and follows him out of the Jeep, fingers lacing once more when they are in reaching distance, and Tom leads her toward the building.

Her grip on his hand tightens, her body easing closer to his side and he kisses her temple, trying to ignore the way his own heart threatens to leap out of his chest and run for the hills.

The pair step closer, crickets chirping in the dead of the night as they hide in the tall grass from the darkness. The warehouse is big, huge, even. Vines cover half of the external walls and thick planks of wood barricade the smashed windows.

Tom pushes the old door open, soft light illuminating the path that lay covered in wood chips and tattered pieces of the walls and ceilings. Y/N clings to him, palms growing sweaty and the eerie silence almost deafens her.

"Tom," she mumbles out, eyes wide as she watches black, furry rats scatter across the floor and squeak in fear.

He shushes her softly, holding her hand tighter as they follow the source of the light. The thin corridor quickly breaks out into a large open planned room — the centre of the warehouse. Old, rusted machinery sits in different spots, torn tarps barely covering them and in the centre of the room, three men stand.

They all stand tall, broad shoulders and thick chests. Y/N stares at them with wide eyes, can't help but notice how much larger they are than her... than  _Tom_. He loosens his grip on her hand and gently guides her forward with his hand on the small of his back. She shrinks into herself a little, fear riddling her body but shouldn't she feel safe around Tom?

"Ah, Mr. Holland. You came." The tallest one in the middle speaks, his blond hair slicked back and a sickly grin on his chapped lips.

Tom stares at them with a stern look, gulping back any nerves that may threaten to show. "I see you have what we asked for." The blond notes, eyes flickering to once over Y/N's cowering figure and his grin only grows.

Her blood runs cold and she tries to curl into Tom's side, but with his hand on the small of her back, he shoves her forward so she stands in the small gap between the men and Tom. She turns to him with wide eyes and a hammering chest, frozen in place when she realises what he's doing.

"Tommy," her voice drones in one ear and out the other, or so she thinks. But the fear laced in her voice shakes Tom to his core and he struggles to keep his composure. He grits his teeth and clenches his fists, refusing to look at Y/N as he trains his attention on the three Russian mobsters behind her, spitting the words he never thought he would.

"You have what you want, now where the fuck is Amelia."

 


	13. Terms and Conditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom’s plan is working, better than expected, but he didn’t fully prepare himself for the aftermath of Y/N, and he thinks he may have just ruined everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for being so damn patient with me in writing and updating this series. I'm really aiming to update this as regular as I can, but please be patient, I work 12 hours a day, 5-6 days a week, so take the regular updates with a grain of salt.

“You have what you want, now where the fuck is Amelia?”

Y/N’s blood runs cold, body aching and she can feel the fear tinge her fingertips. She’s trembling, every single ounce of her quaking in her skin and she doesn’t know if it’s mainly from fear or heartache.

“Tommy, what the fuck are you doing? Who’s Amelia? What’s going on?” She sobs, breathing erratic, like she’s just ran a 10-mile marathon. She stares at him, her plump bottom lip quivering with every shallow breath she takes.

He can’t look at her, can’t bring himself to face those glassy eyes and the absolute terror that haunts them. He can’t fucking stand to see her drown in the pain he’s causing her.

Instead, he keeps his Blue Steel and clenches his jaw, grinding his teeth and clenching his fists.

The blond across from him offers a sardonic laugh and waves the loaded pistol around comically. “Jez, you seeing this?” He asks the taller man, nudging his arm with his elbow. “The little bitch has no idea what’s going on,”  _Jez_  speaks. His accent is not as thick as the blondes, but still apparent.

The two snicker to themselves, losing their composure at the idea of Y/N being completely and utterly clueless throughout what they have planned.

“Enough,” Tom demands.

The two fall silent and the third shuffles his feet, hands crossed over his crotch as he holds the barrel of his gun. “A deal’s a deal. Where is Amelia?” He asks again.

Y/N looks around with frantic eyes, the mention of the unknown woman splintering her ears again and she faces Tom with the darkest form of heartbreak she’s ever felt… a feeling she never knew existed.

Everything hurts. She can feel the heartache tingle in her bones, a heavy spasm tugging at her fingertips and it’s like gravity is forcing her to the ground, pulling her down into a suffocating promise of loneliness and doom.

It’s that name, that  _stupid_  fucking name. It’s like everything makes sense now, like it all adds up. She knew it was all too good to be true, it had to be. The whole time she let herself fall for him, let herself believe he was starting to feel the same way. And all for what? For him to use her as a bargaining chip, a careless penny to buy himself what he really needs, really wants.

And that isn’t her.

He avoids her gaze, refuses to watch her crumble in front of him. His heart is already stammering in his chest and for once in his sorry life, he’s nervous of what may happen if this doesn’t go to plan… if by some twist of unfortunate events, she  _is_  alive.

“Don’t look so glum, sweetheart. Being tied up with the Mob always ends in certain death. Be thankful he’s handing you over when he is… our boss has big plans for you,  _Princess_.”

Her stomach bubbles in fear and disgust. Panic washes over her in drowning waves, ones that knock you off your feet and swallow you whole, that shock the air out of your lungs and leave you choking on the suffocating water.

She turns to them slowly, clenching trembling fists by her sides. Jez snickers again. “Martin was sure you’d be enough to pay off his debts,” he begins. “And Thomas here was happy to help with your whereabouts… after, of course, he found out about his beloved Amelia.”

“That son of a bitch,” Y/N whispers to herself, biting back the heaving need to sob and crumble to the floor. Of course, it was Martin, who fucking else.

“He was right, wasn’t he, Damian,” Jez calls out to the blond, licking his teeth with a snarky smirk, the kind that haunts your dreams and creeps through the darkness of the night. “She looks just like her.”

Y/N feels sick.  _She looks just like her._  Just like  _Amelia_? She shudders. No one ever wants her for  _her_.

“We’ve been looking for you for a long time, you know. A good month now,” Damian tells her, lips pressed in a thin line. His eyes are dark, droopy. He’s no doubt high as a kite on his own supply and Y/N feels even more uneasy than before.

If there’s anything she knows about druggies, it’s that they don’t give a fuck and will do anything for a quick buzz.

He takes a step closer, gun waving around carelessly and he reaches an arm out for her, snickering as he does so. Tom steps forward and wraps an arm around Y/N’s waist, tugging her behind him and pulling out the Glock from the back of his waistband.

He aims it with one hand, the other keeping the trembling woman shielded. Y/N cowers behind him, her fingers intertwined with his and her grip on him is numbing, but his is just as strong.

It happens so fast, she can barely keep up. Two gunshots sound through the warehouse, rattling her to the bone and she shrieks as each one punctures her ears. Her eyes are squeezed shut as she clings onto Tom’s arm, head buried into his shoulder blades as he catches the safety back onto the gun.

She opens her eyes slowly, her ears still ringing and she barely makes out his muffled voice. “Unless you want a bullet in your skull, too, I suggest you tell Price to watch his back.” She barely registers what he says, her eyes too focused on the dead bodies collapsed on the floor.

She sees the blood, the crimson ink that stains the concrete. Everything is white noise, her vision blurred through tears. She doesn’t notice Harrison creep out of the shadows with a gun pointed to the last standing man. She doesn’t notice two other guys follow him with guns of their own.

She doesn’t hear Tom call her name, doesn’t feel the heavy weight of his hands on her shoulders as he tries to get her attention. Instead, her eyes are still locked on the dead bodies, the floods of blood that seeps beneath them. She watches as someone throws a white sheet over them, absorbing the blood but not stopping it.

Her body is shaking as Tom jolts her shoulders, her head tilted as tears pour from her eyes. She looks ghastly, pale and sick. She’s overcome by fear, riddled and consumed by it and Tom shouts her name one more time, breaking her from the haze.

“We need to leave, okay? Darling, we need to leave,” he says, voice clearer and he reaches for her hand, tries to interlace their fingers again but she pulls out of his grasp and takes a step back, shaking her head as salty tears continue to fall.

“No… no, I’m not going  _anywhere_  with you,” she tells him. Her voice is stern but trembling. Y/N doesn’t bother wiping her eyes, doesn’t try to stop the tears from falling and when Tom takes a step closer, she takes another step back.

She doesn’t know what she expected. She knows his line of work, she knows what he’s capable of, what he does. She’s seen him beaten and bloody, she’s seen him press a gun to someone else’s head… but now she’s seen him  _kill_  someone and nothing will ever be the same.

Tom reels back, like he’s been slapped in the face and it certainly feels like it. He frowns and shakes his head, reaches for her again but she takes another step away from him.

“You just… you just—”

“I know!” He cuts her off, voice raised and his shoulders slump when he notices the way she flinches at his tone. He takes a deep breath and lets out a sigh, closing his eyes to ground himself. “I know, I know… but you need to trust me right now, darling. Please, just  _trust_  me.”

She stares at him, brows gently furrowed. She wants to, God does she want to. He’s eager, and she can see that. She sees the fear and desperation in his eyes, the subtle tremble in his fingers as he clenches and unclenches his fists.

She wants to hold him, to run into his arms and believe everything he says, but she looks back to those bodies again and she suddenly doesn’t want to have anything to do with him.

“You were gonna hand me over to them,” her voice comes out much sterner than she intended. “For what? For who? Who the fuck is Amelia, Tom?” Y/N cries out, desperation cracking in her voice and Tom takes a deep breath, tries to calm his own irrational fears.

“I had a plan—”

“Then you should’ve told me! Before making me scared for my life, you should’ve fucking  _told_  me, Tommy,” her voice grows distant, breaking as she utters that nickname he adores from her lips.

He wants to fight back, to fall to his knees and beg her to just give him another chance… to just listen to the danger she’s in and go with him, to let him protect her. He doesn’t get the chance to when Harrison clears his throat from across the warehouse and calls his name.

“Tom. We need to go, it’s almost sunrise. We can’t risk either of you being seen.”

Tom nods and his eyes shift to focus on the ground beneath him, and through it all not a single scuff on his Balenciaga sneakers. “Please don’t make me throw you over my shoulder and carrying you to the car,” he speaks lowly, but just loud enough for her to hear.

In any other circumstance, she would’ve laughed… probably slapped his arm and giggled like a schoolgirl. But right now all she can do is cry. She wants to trust him and every fibre of her being is telling her to, but she can’t.

“On one condition,” she whispers.

Tom’s head snaps up and he nods, all too eagerly. “Anything, what is it?”

“Mum and Liv… I want them out of this, completely. Send them away, give them fake IDs, I don’t care. Just take them somewhere safe and  _far_  away.” Tom nods his head frantically, though he’ll agree to anything at this point if it means she’ll be safe.

“And my Dad, you need to find my Dad and do the same for him. You need to, Tom. Please,” she begs, her once confident and demanding demeanour long overcome by desperation and fear.

“Okay, love, okay. I’ll find him, and I’ll keep them all safe.”

* * *

No one’s ever been in this part of Tom’s home before, at least, no one other than that of the Holland’s, and Harrison every now and then. Tom’s sleeping quarters are off-limits to anyone and everyone. He’ll stay in a guest bedroom when he’s hooking up with some chick and even the maids have been forbidden to visit the far West wing of the house.

Toms bedroom is his sanctuary and the hall leading to it is considered just as much, too. Y/N purses her lips as she follows the young man down the hall. The walls are white with soft, golden lamps sitting on the crisp paint.

She gave him the silent treatment for the rest of the journey to his home, went as far as sitting in the backseat with Tessa’s head laying on her lap. The dog followed her inside and remains by her heels as they both follow Tom further down the hall.

Her palms are sweaty, a flutter in her heart and stomach. She knows it’s uneasy nerves and exhaustion, but the way his shoulder blades move with every step he takes beneath that shirt is not helping. Tom stops suddenly, her bags still in his hand but he doesn’t drop them.

He turns to her, and Y/N avoids eye contact. Tom sighs. “This is your room,” he pushes the door open and steps aside, lets her venture in first.

She does, eyes wide and jaw somewhat slack. It’s gorgeous. The size of her lounge, kitchen, and dining room all in one. There are beautiful double pane windows that overlook the gorgeous flower allotment in the garden, a Queen size canopy bed that sits against a soft, beige wall; standing tall and made to perfection.

She’s too busy admiring the bedroom to even acknowledge anything he says about the chefs and maids. But when she spots an art easel in the corner of the room with a trolley full of pastel paints and watercolours, she spins around to stare at him in awe.

“Sorry, what?” She stutters out, cheeks crimson and she has to remind herself what he did to her, that he tried to give her up for some  _Amelia_  and didn’t bother to tell her it was apparently all part of an elaborate plan to keep her safe.

Tom smiles softly. “I said I got Maria to get you some clothes. The wardrobes are full but there’s room in the drawers for the clothes you have. We have two maids; Maria and Evelyn, and a chef, Miron, but he’s currently on vacation in the Bahamas. My room is uh… is just down the hall, if you need anything,” he lists.

She nods slowly, reality of the whole situation settling in. “I mean it, Y/N. If you need  _anything_ ,” he tells her softly. Y/N’s eyes glaze over with fresh tears and she nods her head, tugging her shirt sleeves over her hands and nimble fingers.

Tom leaves the room, Tessa quickly following and he closes the door behind him. Y/N sits at the foot of the bed, picking at her stubbly fingernails and all at once, everything comes crashing over the edge.


End file.
